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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27002275">what is this, a sports anime?</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unosarta/pseuds/witchGirl'>witchGirl (Unosarta)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>what is this, a lifetime movie? [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Teen Wolf (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Future Fic, Insecure Stiles Stilinski, Kidnapping, M/M, Martial Arts, Misunderstandings, Pack Dynamics, Secret Relationship, Unhealthy Relationships</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 00:49:30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>22,017</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27002275</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unosarta/pseuds/witchGirl</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In which the pack hosts a tournament, Derek and Lydia pretend to date, and altogether too many body parts get broken.</p><p>(Explicit rating is for depictions of violence. There is no smut in this fic.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>what is this, a lifetime movie? [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1992295</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>391</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>what is this, a sports anime?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Fake Dating with a twist.</p><p>Re: Scott giving Derek his Alpha spark: It was mostly for the conceit of this fic, but my justification is that Alpha instincts are difficult to deal with and Scott not wanting to is fair, and Scott went to college outside of Beacon Hills with Kira leaving the Nemeton unprotected, so he decided to entrust Derek with his spark.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“What do you mean, we’re going to have to find Derek a mate?” Stiles asks, his brain incapable of or unwilling to work out what Cora is saying.

</p><p>Cora rolls her eyes. “He needs to appear strong to the Anderson pack; they’re hardline traditionalists. An unmated alpha is weak. Mates give alphas control and grounding. We know he’s fine, if a bit grouchy,” Derek growls under his breath at her, she gestures as if he’s proving her point, “but it’s part of showing a united front.”

</p><p>“How long do we have to get her used to him?” Lydia asks. “It’s got to appear genuine, right?”

</p><p>Stiles wants to laugh, or maybe choke. He tries to make eye contact with Derek, tries to laugh at the circumstances, but Derek won’t look at him. Won’t even interrupt them to point out the obvious.

</p><p>It kind of really hurts.

</p><p>Malia crosses her arms. “Who do we even have to work with? It can’t be me or Cora, since we’re related. Kira’s with Scott and Allison’s with Isaac. That leaves…” She turns to Lydia.

</p><p>“Yeah,” Lydia sighs. “Just me.”

</p><p>Stiles wants to scream, wants to shake them all by the shoulders. What the fuck do they <em>mean</em> just Lydia? For that matter, why isn’t Derek correcting them?

</p><p>Stiles starts to open his mouth, and only then does Derek look at him. The warning in his eyes, the dark glint that says Stiles had better watch himself, feels like a physical blow.

</p><p>Stiles gets up and leaves the room mechanically. He doesn’t want to - he <em>can’t</em> - be there. He can’t listen to them plan out all of the details for Lydia to be the perfect mate for Derek.

</p><p>It was one thing when Derek asked him not to say anything, as they kissed in Stiles’ apartment. It was one thing when Derek wouldn’t take him on dates in case the pack saw. It was one thing entirely when Derek said sweet things to him, but only where the light of day never shone.

</p><p>It’s another thing entirely to have him reject Stiles so directly, so personally, in the one instance when their relationship should have helped. Should have been a positive thing instead of a shitty secret.

</p><p>So Stiles stands up and walks out. Pulls open his cellphone and pretends to make a call, so the other senior pack members in the room won’t question why he leaves.

</p><p>Stiles is simultaneously grateful and resentful of Scott not being there, instead dealing with an omega in the preserve. Grateful because Scott may be the only member of the pack who can read Stiles well enough to know he’s upset, the only member of the pack besides Derek that he can’t convincingly lie to. Resentful because, on some level, Stiles wants to talk about it. Wants someone else to know what he’s going through.

</p><p>It’s wishful thinking, though.

</p><p> 


</p>
<hr/><p> 

</p><p>Stiles doesn’t need Cora to tell him not to skip the negotiations with the Anderson pack; Stiles is Derek’s Second. If he didn’t show, it would be a hundred times worse than Derek not having a mate.

</p><p>That doesn’t stop him from avoiding the pack for the week leading up to the negotiations, however. Just because he needs to lead negotiations doesn’t mean he needs to torture himself watching Derek and Lydia play at being mates.

</p><p>So Stiles throws himself into his work. His supervisor at the FBI is confusedly grateful for how many cases Stiles manages to close remotely in that week. Stiles is just grateful he has anything to take his mind off of what is coming.

</p><p>When he slides into his seat in the pack house’s meeting room, the only way he can manage to keep his cool is by pointedly keeping his eyes away from Lydia where she hangs off of Derek’s arm.

</p><p>The Anderson Second is sitting in front of him, a squat woman who must have years of experience. Stiles calms himself with a deep breath and relaxes his face, allowing a gentle smile. “Welcome to our territory, Anderson pack. It is an honor.”

</p><p>“The honor is ours, Hale pack. We were saddened to hear of the passing of Alpha Talia Hale; she was a great woman and a close friend.”

</p><p>Stiles is almost bored by the words, he’s heard them so many times over the past five years working as the Second in Derek’s pack. Everyone and their brother must have been friends with Talia, the way they talked about her.

</p><p>“Indeed, she was a great woman,” he says, keeping his thoughts to himself and his words neutral to avoid a lie. “Why have you come to our territory?” Werewolf negotiations are werewolf negotiations. No matter how formal the language gets, you’re not supposed to waste everyone’s time.

</p><p>“We have come to request a stay in your territory for our pack. We have a few rambunctious youngsters who need socializing outside of the pack, and we thought it prudent to come to our southern neighbors and renew the bonds of friendship between our packs.”

</p><p>Stiles keeps himself from narrowing his eyes, but only just. The Anderson pack lives to the north of the Hale territory, true, but there is a whole-ass mountain between the two. It’s the reason they’ve never had formal negotiations before.

</p><p>Also, Stiles knows how it is with rambunctious youngsters, but the delegation he had seen outside didn’t seem rowdy at all. And if all they wanted was a vacation to let off steam, why bring the Alpha <em>and</em> his Second.

</p><p>Stiles keeps his eyes off of Alpha Anderson himself for propriety’s sake, but he knows the old man must be watching him. You’re supposed to treat the alphas as if they don’t exist during negotiations, a sign that the pack is strong enough without needing to rely on their alpha, but the alphas are under no such compunction.

</p><p>So the Anderson pack is here with a contingent of werewolves who look eager and curious, with their senior leadership, and they have some ulterior motive. It must not be territory; the Anderson pack is bigger than the Hale pack, but not so big that they can control the Hale territory in addition to their own, with a mountain in the way. It’s not for membership - they would have been upfront about seeking potential mates if that were the case.

</p><p>Stiles nods, smiles. “I see. Perhaps, if your cubs are as rowdy as you say, we can provide a bit of entertainment?” He catches Alpha Anderson leaning forward in his seat from the corner of his eye. Gotcha.

</p><p>“Explain,” the Anderson Second says.

</p><p>“Everyone loves a competition,” Stiles says, smiling sharply. “A tournament between our two packs. An opportunity to test our mettle.”

</p><p>The Anderson Second makes eye contact with her Alpha and nods. Stiles knew it.

</p><p>The only reason they would want to be here other than territory or membership is to scout out the Hale pack. Better to be open about it than to tiptoe around the subject. This itself is probably a test of Stiles, to see how well he can read between the lines. He hopes he passed.

</p><p>Alpha Anderson leans forward again, makes eye contact with his Second, and she turns to Stiles. “How about a wager? The winner gets a prize, to sweeten the deal.”

</p><p>Stiles nods. “What do you suggest?”

</p><p>The Second hesitates, but her Alpha speaks first. “Mating rights with the Hale Second,” he says. Alpha Anderson’s voice is surprisingly soft and high pitched for how grizzled he looks. Stiles almost wants to laugh at how grandfatherly that voice is, like he’s going to offer Stiles a hard caramel -

</p><p>Wait, what?

</p><p>Derek leans forward next to Stiles, no doubt about to say something rude to one of their more powerful neighbors, but Stiles cuts him off before he can. “That is acceptable.”

</p><p>He can feel Derek’s glare drilling a hole in the side of Stiles’ head, but he doesn’t care. Derek didn’t give half a shit about Stiles and his feelings when he went along with Lydia pretending to be his mate. He can pout and pout for all Stiles cares.

</p><p>“A week from today should be enough time to settle in,” Stiles says. “Random seed. Text me the names of your pack members who wish to participate and I will set everything up. Is that well enough?”

</p><p>The Anderson Second hesitates again, before nodding her assent. Stiles leans over and shakes her hand, before standing.

</p><p>“If you’ll head to the backyard, I’m sure we’ll be able to provide refreshment and food. We can discuss your accommodations there, if that is acceptable.”

</p><p>The Anderson pack files out of the room, the Alpha stopping to make eye contact with Stiles. He gives the guy his best friendly smile, even if he feels more like cornered prey than a friend.

</p><p>Derek stops him when he tries to leave the room. “What the fuck was that?” he asks, his voice low enough that the assembled packs outside won’t hear him through the sound proofed walls.

</p><p>“Negotiations. You’d think you’d recognize them with how many we’ve done,” Stiles jokes, trying to pull his arm from Derek’s grasp.

</p><p>He doesn’t let Stiles go. “No one is fighting over your mating rights,” Derek whispers furiously.

</p><p>Stiles lets his friendly face drop, looking at Derek soberly. “I really don’t see how that’s any of your business Alpha Hale.”

</p><p>Derek looks like Stiles slapped him. “Of - of course it’s my business,” he says, bringing his hand up to touch Stiles’ cheek.

</p><p>“Perhaps,” Stiles says, leaning away from Derek’s touch, “if it was your business, you wouldn’t have agreed to pretend to be Lydia’s mate. Perhaps if it was your business, I wouldn’t be a secret. But here we are.” Stiles waves a hand flippantly before twisting Derek’s grip on his arm open by the thumb and striding out of the room to check on the Anderson pack.

</p><p> 


</p>
<hr/><p> 

</p><p>Lydia doesn’t let Stiles get three feet out of the meeting room before she’s pulling him away by the ear. “What do you think you’re doing, letting them fight over you like that?” Lydia asks as she pulls him out onto the front porch. “How do you expect this to go? Really Stiles?”

</p><p>“I expect to win,” Stiles says. “But even if I don’t, I expect us to prove to the Anderson pack that we’re not to be fucked with. If someone in our pack wins, they can give up my mating rights. If someone in their pack wins, we get a new recruit.” When he still sees concern on Lydia’s face, he continues, “they’re asking for mating rights, not pack loyalty. I’m not going to leave you guys for anything.”

</p><p>She pulls him into a hug. “You’d better not,” she says into his shoulder.

</p><p>When she lets go of him, Stiles feels compelled to ask, “how’s the whole,” he waggles his fingers, “mates thing going?”

</p><p>Lydia shrugs. “It’s Derek. He’s not exactly warm on the best of days.”

</p><p>Stiles thinks about soft afternoons in Stiles’ apartment, the two of them curled up around each other, the lazy smiles Derek gave him, and wonders how true that really is. But he can’t reasonably deny it to Lydia without revealing his hand.

</p><p>Stiles just shrugs and looks away. “How are they doing?” he asks, nodding to the backyard where the Hale and Anderson packs are mingling.

</p><p>“Tense,” she says, folding her arms. “The Anderson Betas won’t stop talking about the chance to fight, and our Betas are a little freaked out that you staked your relationship status on it.”

</p><p>Stiles laughs. “Just an extra incentive for us to do well.” When Lydia’s face twists, Stiles slings an arm around her shoulders. “Don’t worry. Have you ever seen me beaten one on one?”

</p><p>“There’s always a time for firsts,” she says, rolling her eyes, but Stiles can see that the anxious set of her face has softened somewhat.

</p><p>Someone clears their throat behind them, and Stiles turns to see Derek looking somewhere on the angry side of surly. “Stiles.” Somehow Derek manages to pack a whole lot of meaning into that word: ‘we need to talk’ and ‘you’re really pissing me off’ and ‘you can’t avoid me.’

</p><p>But, perhaps to Derek’s surprise, Stiles doesn’t have to avoid Derek to avoid the conversation.

</p><p>“Right, sorry, shouldn’t be scenting your mate with strange werewolves around.” He can’t help but notice the way Derek’s brow furrows in frustration, almost laughs at how familiar the look is. “Why don’t we go outside so you can introduce Lydia to everyone? Really show her off?”

</p><p>Lydia looks between them, raises an eyebrow at the strange tone in Stiles’ voice. Derek growls as he stomps past Stiles and into the backyard. “You should go with him,” Stiles says gently when Lydia doesn’t move immediately. “You need to help them figure out their accommodations.”

</p><p>“But you always handle -“

</p><p>Stiles raises his hands in a ‘what can you do’ gesture. “Did you read Cora’s message in the group chat? It’s traditional for the Alpha’s mate to do it. Having the unmated Second provide accommodations would be an insult to a traditional pack like the Andersons.”

</p><p>Lydia narrows her eyes at him. “So all of those other packs we’ve worked with…?”

</p><p>“Must have made some assumptions or else not cared about tradition.”

</p><p>Lydia lets him gently nudge her towards the back door, but she doesn’t stop glaring at Stiles. It’s like she’s turning into a mini Derek. “I’m not going to push about whatever is going on between you two, but don’t think I’m stupid.”

</p><p>“Lydia Martin,” Stiles says, laughing, “I don’t think there is anyone in the world who thinks you are stupid.”

</p><p>Stiles watches her go, watches werewolves wrestling in Derek’s expansive backyard, before climbing to his room on the second floor and getting to work planning out a reasonable tournament bracket on his laptop.

</p><p>He should be insulted that no one checks in on him through dinner, that he’s forced to eat alone, but really he’s grateful to not have to watch Lydia and Derek pretend to moon over each other. Maybe they wouldn’t even have to pretend - it’s not like they weren’t the two most attractive people in Beacon Hills.

</p><p>Stiles tries not to feel bitter, tries not to be upset; he does everything in his power to avoid thinking about what happened at all. He and Derek aren’t together, never really were, and he just needs to get over it. Hopefully Derek can find someone he’s willing to date in public, someone he cares for like he never - like he couldn’t - like he didn’t care for Stiles.

</p><p>It’s fine. He tells himself over and over that it’s fine as he packs up his laptop; as he climbs down the stairs one step at a time; as he grabs his coat and slips out into the cool night air; as he drives home, not really paying attention to the road; as he opens the apartment and hangs his coat in the closet; and as he shucks off his clothes and lays down in his bed.

</p><p>It’s fine. Everything is fine.

</p><p> 


</p>
<hr/><p> 

</p><p>Everything is not fine. Stiles has to come in the next day to finalize tournament details with Cora and Malia and the Anderson pack is still hanging around for some reason, so Stiles gets an eyeful if Derek holding Lydia’s cheek gently in his hand, kissing her mouth like he is desperate for it.

</p><p>Stiles can’t describe the simultaneous hot-cold his insides go through when he sees it. It’s like he cut open a CVS’s worth of IcyHots into a glass and then drank it. His chest and face heat as his limbs go cold, and he can’t stay in the room with them, even if Alpha Anderson gives him a strange look.

</p><p>Who cares. Stiles will be the weird Second, if it means he doesn’t have to subject himself to <em>that</em>. It would be so much easier if it was Allison or Kira pretending to be with Derek, but Lydia feels like a kick to his sternum.

</p><p>It had taken him five years to get over his feelings for her after high school, three of which were spent pining for a girl who didn’t give two shits about him from across the country. He had barely had the chance to try to grow his confidence, try meeting new people, when he and Derek had hit it off.

</p><p>‘Hit it off’. As if being fuck buddies was ‘hitting it off’. No one ‘hit it off’ when they fell in bed together, Stiles was just convenient.

</p><p>Stiles is always only ever going to be convenient. A good friend. A loyal Second. Never anyone’s first choice.

</p><p>Hell, Alpha Anderson probably asked for his mating rights as a way into the pack, because he saw a high ranking non-family pack member who wasn’t mated and had a field day. Never anyone’s first choice.

</p><p>It’s fine. Everything is fine.

</p><p>Stiles sits in the den on the third floor where they hold their meetings for a solid thirty minutes, holding his hands to his face and breathing deeply, refusing to allow any tears to fall and mess up his complexion for Lydia or Derek to see.

</p><p>When everyone arrives, it’s just like normal. Derek doesn’t look at him. It’s fine.

</p><p>Cora and Malia do look at him, however. “What the hell were you thinking? A tournament? Really?”

</p><p>Lydia laughs. “That’s what I said.”

</p><p>“They came here to test us and see us in action. No way leadership of an ‘unruly’ pack shows up to a different pack’s territory unless they have a reason. They’re not here for territory or recruitment, so they must want information on us. Why not give them as little personal information as possible while limiting the time they can realistically stay? If all they do is fight us, they’ll realize we’re strong and back off.” Stiles barely looks up to meet their eyes as he explains, and he hopes it looks more like contrition than dread.

</p><p>Cora watches him for a long moment, eyes narrowed. Malia rolls her eyes. “I mean, he’s right, but that’s not the real reason you’re mad at him,” she says. “Don’t mince words, just say what is bothering you and move on.”

</p><p>“Do you have any idea how it looks to use mating rights as a bargaining tool? For us?” Cora gestures between herself and Malia. “If you offer your own mating rights like this, who’s to stop the next pack we negotiate with from demanding my mating rights? Or Malia’s?”

</p><p>Stiles notes that she doesn’t ask for Lydia’s, even though Lydia is probably the most vulnerable to this demand after Stiles. It’s fine.

</p><p>“Me? I’m to stop them, unless you think I’ll just completely fuck up my job.” Stiles tries to keep his voice even and calm.

</p><p>“When you’re gone?” Cora says, voice rising. “When the Anderson pack takes you away? Really?”

</p><p>“I didn’t offer them pack loyalty,” Stiles says, raising his hands placatingly, “just mating rights. They can try all they want, but they won’t be able to take me away from here.”

</p><p>“You think they won’t try? A pack as traditional as them?” Cora sounds <em>mad</em>.

</p><p>“They can make as many arguments and attempts on my life as they want. It wasn’t what we negotiated for, so no one will sympathize with them. And I can take care of myself.”

</p><p>Cora pinches the bridge of her nose. “What about us? What if they threaten our lives to get you to come.”

</p><p>Stiles looks to Malia. “Do you think they will?” he asks her.

</p><p>“I don’t know,” Malia says, shrugging. “We don’t have a lot of information on their past interactions with packs. If they were desperate, I wouldn’t put it past any pack to fight for what they feel is theirs.”

</p><p>“This is all assuming that we lose,” Stiles says. “I have no intention of losing. Part of the point of this setup is to prove ourselves to a larger pack, so we had better win if we don’t want them to walk all over us.”

</p><p>“You can’t guarantee that will happen!” Cora says, almost shouting. “You can have whatever intention you want, but you don’t know what will happen. I’m trying to plan for the worst, here, not naively hope for the best.”

</p><p>“It’s not naive,” Stiles says, knowing he’s right. “How many packs have we fought off? How long have we been doing this? We’re not going to lose, not if we are careful.”

</p><p>Cora throws him a piece of paper, balled up so it hits him square in the face. When Stiles unfolds it, it’s a list of names from the Anderson pack.

</p><p>“Alpha Anderson wants to fight in the tournament,” she says, fists clenched at her sides. “He’s going to fight for you. Still as confident?”

</p><p>Stiles knows the weres in the room can hear the sharp twist of his heart. It’s not that he hasn’t taken down Alphas before, but Stiles isn’t stupid. Fighting an Alpha one on one is foolish, even for him. Even for the strongest and most experienced Beta.

</p><p>Stiles sighs. “It’s not ideal, certainly. I guess Derek can enter if he thinks it’s an issue, but I am certainly not going to give up just because their Alpha wants to fight.”

</p><p>Stiles can hear the barest hint of Derek growling, but Cora and Malia turn to him like he’s shouted. When Stiles looks at him, his eyes are red and he is staring at Stiles. “Not that he has to!” Stiles quickly clarifies, holding his hands up more defensively than placatingly this time. “Shit, sorry if I volunteered you. Obviously you don’t have to join if you don’t want to, didn’t mean to offend.”

</p><p>Lydia rolls her eyes from next to Derek - Stiles only just notices that they are sitting next to each other, he’d been so focused on avoiding looking at either one of them - but Cora and Malia give him strange looks.

</p><p>“I’ll fight,” Derek says thickly.

</p><p>“See,” Stiles says to Cora. “No problem.”

</p><p>Cora doesn’t take her eyes off of Derek, and the Alpha himself won’t take his eyes off of Stiles, so the last twenty minutes of their meeting where they go over tournament logistics is awkward, to say the least.

</p><p>After they’re done and Lydia has dragged Cora and Malia out of the room, Derek is still glaring at Stiles.

</p><p>“Are we good?” Stiles asks. “Did I do something wrong?”

</p><p>Derek just raises his eyebrows. Normally Stiles is pretty good at reading him, but in this moment he has no idea what that is supposed to mean.

</p><p>He waits. And waits. At some point in five minutes of silence, Stiles thinks Derek is fucking with him and starts to get up, but Derek growls at him until Stiles sits back down.

</p><p>“Is this… are you punishing me?” Derek asks, and now Stiles is really confused. If anyone here is being punished, isn’t it Stiles for getting too invested in their little fuckbuddy scenario?

</p><p>“What? No? How am I supposed to be punishing you?”

</p><p>“Do you… do you want me to beg? Is that what this is?” Derek asks, eyes on his hands.

</p><p>“Beg for <em>what</em>?” Stiles asks, exasperated. “I don’t know what your problem is with me right now. I’m sorry that I cared too much when you didn’t, if that’s the issue. If my scent is throwing you off and you want me to leave, then you don’t have to beg, for fuck’s sake.” Stiles gets up to leave the room, but Derek grabs his wrist before he can get away. Classic. Definitely not creepy at all.

</p><p>“You cared too much,” Derek repeats. His voice is flat and almost angry, but his face is completely blank.

</p><p>The words feel like a knife in his stomach. He nods at Derek, drags his hand from the man’s grasp, and flees the room before he starts crying.

</p><p>Stiles is a grown man, he tells himself in his car. He works for the FBI. He’s not going to cry just because Derek confirmed all of his worst fears. Just because Stiles is a clingy, emotional wreck. Isn’t that what his last girlfriend had told him? Isn’t that why Lydia wasn’t interested in him?

</p><p>He slams his hands down on the steering wheel. It’s fine. Everything is fine.

</p><p>He drives home.

</p><p> 


</p>
<hr/><p> 

</p><p>Stiles arrives at the pack house an hour early, his travel bag packed full of weapons. He has the tournament roster on him and the determination necessary to beat an Alpha werewolf if he has to.

</p><p>He’s surprised at how much he’s looking forward to this. He had to spend a few days in the San Francisco office working on a case and he’d used that time to spar with some of his coworkers. It’s never as good as sparring with his pack members, or Derek, but he can’t look Derek in the eyes right now, so it’s safer to be in SF.

</p><p>He wants to pound the feelings out of his body one punch at a time. It’s been too long since he’s been in a good fight.

</p><p>Stiles nods to the Anderson Betas who arrive early, hugs Scott when he gets there, concern writ across his face, and generally acts like the good Second he is. He lets Isaac scent him when he arrives with Allison. He doesn’t even flinch when he sees Lydia.

</p><p>He’s sure every werewolf in the area must know something is up when Derek pads out of the house, though, by the insane pounding of his heart.

</p><p>It just hurts to see him like this. Stiles having too many feelings was the whole problem in the first place, and unsurprisingly, a few days in SF didn’t actually solve anything.

</p><p>Stiles keeps his face controlled, his bearing professional, and checks the people who’ve arrived early to see if they’re planning on fighting.

</p><p>By midmorning, there’s a fair crowd gathered in front of the pack house, chatting and milling about. Stiles can taste the excitement in the air like a battery on his tongue.

</p><p>When everyone has gathered, he wolf-whistles to grab everyone’s attention, and leads them into the preserve. Stiles heads straight for the location Cora texted him. It’s a fair way into the preserve, so Stiles takes the twenty minutes it takes to walk there as a chance to calm his emotions.

</p><p>The place Cora picked out couldn’t have been more perfect. Stiles finds her standing in the bottom of a ravine, easily thirty feet across, with ledges up the incline to stand or sit on. Stiles wonders if she carved those herself, or if they’d always been here.

</p><p>Stiles goes to meet her in the circle, pulling Cora into a hug. “This is amazing,” he says as he pulls back. “I can’t believe I’ve never seen this before.”

</p><p>Cora smiles wistfully. “We used to come here sometimes, before the fire.”

</p><p>Stiles nods, squeezes her shoulder, and turns to the crowd. “Welcome. Please find somewhere to sit, if you can. We’ll start the fights once I confirm everyone is here.”

</p><p>Stiles grabs some chalk out of his bag and climbs up the far side of the ravine to write the bracket for all to see.

</p><p>“The first fight will be: Allison Argent and Maria Anderson.”

</p><p>He watches Allison stand at the same time as the Anderson Second, the woman Stiles sat across from during their negotiations.

</p><p>Stiles gives Allison a serious look as he goes to sit down in the crowd, fists clenched in his lap.

</p><p>She’d better not get hurt.

</p><p> 


</p>
<hr/><p> 

</p><p>Allison rolls out of the way of the woman’s swipe, hair falling in front of her face when she looks up. Her bow is broken in half on the other side of the ravine.

</p><p>It turns out the Anderson pack really isn’t fucking around.

</p><p>For all that the Second seemed mild mannered during negotiations, on the battlefield she’s a nightmare. She had immediately ascertained that Allison’s weakness was close combat and hounded her until she was sweaty, panting, and stumbling back.

</p><p>Allison ducks under the Second’s claws and slides in close with her knife, but the Second must have feinted, because she slams her foot into Allison’s gut and sends her rolling across the ravine, face first into the far wall.

</p><p>Stiles winces at the impact. He knew Allison would struggle the most out of all of them against werewolf opponents, but it feels awful watching someone beat the shit out of her. Scott is standing by Isaac, hand on his shoulder, and Isaac looks like he’s about to tear the Anderson Second apart with his teeth. Or maybe a knife.

</p><p>Stiles calls the match, hurrying over to Allison to make sure she’s all right. She grits her teeth in some approximation of a smile and shakes her head at him. No pity. Stiles nods, gets a shoulder under her arm, and leads her through the crowd towards where Melissa is standing, first aid kit in hand.

</p><p> 


</p>
<hr/><p> 

</p><p>Kira’s match is over in almost an instant. Her opponent must have underestimated her and her mountain ash bokuto, because a single upward slash of her sword slams his jaw shut and crushes his teeth together, blood leaking out of his mouth from where he probably bit his tongue.

</p><p>Stiles sometimes forgets just how frightening Kira is when she’s fighting seriously.

</p><p>And then it’s Stiles’ turn in the ring. He can see his pack lean forward in anticipation, but the Anderson pack looks almost bored. The werewolf that swaggers up to his feet glances over Stiles more like he’s checking him out than sizing him up.

</p><p>“Pedro Anderson and Stiles Stilinski,” Derek calls.

</p><p>Pedro looks familiar. It takes Stiles a moment to realize that he must be the son of the Anderson Alpha. No wonder he swaggers about; it’s common in traditional werewolf packs for the Alpha to pass their spark to their eldest child, making them almost like the heir to the pack. He must think he’s the hottest shit.

</p><p>Stiles keeps his smile to himself. This won’t take long, after all.

</p><p>He adopts a weak stance, elbows out and knees straight, and does his best to look frightened.

</p><p>Pedro charges in, hands out to grab at Stiles.

</p><p>At the last second, Stiles twists out of the way of his grasp. If he allows himself to be grabbed, it’ll be a ground battle that Stiles won’t easily win.

</p><p>Pedro looks behind him to where Stiles has stepped and growls, charging again. He pulls his arm back to punch.

</p><p>Stiles twists again, sidesteps so he’s behind the young werewolf, and then backs away. He’s waiting for what he knows will be coming, the moment Pedro gets frustrated or drops his guard.

</p><p>“Is this really your Second?” Pedro asks the crowd, turning away from Stiles. “A weakling who can’t even hit like a man? He’ll make an easy mate.”

</p><p>Stiles doesn’t wait. Even as Pedro has begun speaking, he slides up behind him, twists on the balls of his feet, turns his body, and spins into a kick that slams into Pedro’s head.

</p><p>His foot hits Pedro’s temple heel first, and on anyone but a werewolf this move would be undeniably lethal. Even as it is, Stiles has to move out of the way as Pedro falls onto the ground, unconscious.

</p><p>“He’ll be out for at least an hour and he will have a concussion when he comes to. Don’t let him move too much today, his brain needs to heal itself,” Stiles says to the Anderson Second where she sits in the crowd.

</p><p>The Anderson pack is silent for a long moment, and the Hale pack is used to Stiles’ fighting style, so he sits back down in complete silence. Only a beat later do the Andersons start clapping politely for his win. The Anderson Alpha in particular seems to be eyeing Stiles in a hungry way, and Stiles doesn’t like the look.

</p><p> 


</p>
<hr/><p> 

</p><p>Boyd loses his fight narrowly, the Anderson beta managing to outmaneuver him with superior speed, catching him in a submission hold that he can’t quite break out of in time.

</p><p>Stiles knows he’ll be beating himself up for it for the next few weeks, and makes a note on his phone to practice breaking holds and pins when they train next.

</p><p>Malia wins, though that’s not surprising to anyone in the Hale pack. After Stiles and Derek, she’s their best fighter. She claws out her opponent’s eyes in the first few seconds of the fight, and it’s all downhill from there.

</p><p>Stiles is most looking forward to Erica’s fight. He’s pretty sure her opponent is the Left Hand of the Anderson pack, by the way he holds himself; even compared to the weakest member of their pack, he has the most unassuming look about him, but Stiles knows as soon as he sees the man’s eyes.

</p><p>“Erica Reyes and Sam Anderson,” Stiles says to the crowd as the two fighters walk into the center of the ravine.

</p><p>Erica bounces on her heels, and springs forward as soon as Stiles calls for the fight to begin. She’s good, she’s always been good. Her and Boyd are neck and neck for the spot as the fourth strongest member of their pack.

</p><p>Erica brings her claws up above her head and slices them down towards -

</p><p>But he’s gone. Erica looks around for a heartbeat, but it’s too late. Stiles watches as Sam pivots behind her - the same movements Stiles was using against Pedro in his fight, he notes - and swings an elbow to the back of Erica’s neck.

</p><p>Just before it connects, Erica drops to the ground, rolling away. Stiles smiles; he remembers practicing that move with her late into the summer nights earlier that year.

</p><p>Sam doesn’t stop there, though. He’s stepping into her space when she stands, two hands worth of claws out to stab her chest, face as impassive as ever.

</p><p>Erica, in a move Stiles wishes he could claim ownership of, drops low, her forearms brushing the insides of Sam’s forearms, and parries the blow by angling her elbows out. She uses the momentum of the drop and the position of her own claws to surge forward, assuming the same attack that Sam had attempted to use on her. The tips of her claws sink into his stomach -

</p><p>But move no further. Sam has claws in Erica’s cheek, and blood is flowing freely from her mouth. Instead of backing away or blocking, Sam used Erica’s momentum against her and made her spear herself on his claws. 

</p><p>Stiles calls the match, notes the practiced way Sam cleans the blood off his fingers with a handkerchief, and looks to the bracket with worry, wondering who Sam’s next opponent would be.

</p><p>Derek. Assuming he wins his match. Stiles feels a twinge of concern in his chest, imagining Sam’s claws in Derek’s cheek, but he pushes it down frustratedly. Who gives a shit about their stupid Alpha? Certainly not Stiles.

</p><p>Stiles keeps his gaze even when Derek steps into the ring, knowing that Derek is staring at him intensely. If for nothing else, Stiles needs to be a professional. He’s not going to let Derek fuck up the mates facade, if Stiles had to get his feelings fucked up by it. His sacrifice will not be in vain.

</p><p>Derek doesn’t stop looking at Stiles as Stiles calls for the match to begin.

</p><p>“Derek Hale and Maya Anderson.”

</p><p>Maya seems to be one of the rambunctious youngsters Alpha Anderson had mentioned. She rushes forward, obviously trying to catch the Alpha off guard while his attention is elsewhere and get a blow in. She’s dropped fang and flicked her claws out, but Derek doesn’t pull his eyes from where Stiles sits, trying to look impartially at the match.

</p><p>She pulls her arm back to plunge her hand into Derek’s chest.

</p><p>And in the blink of an eye, he’s grabbed her hair, flipped her around, and slammed her face first into the ground.

</p><p>Her head makes a dull thud where it hits the dirt, all of the fight knocked out of her. Derek keeps his eyes on Stiles when he stands, his foot on her head. Stiles isn’t sure if it’s meant to be some kind of offering, like ‘look, I brought you a dead bird’, or a threat, like ‘if you don’t get rid of your feelings for me, you’re next’, but he calls the fight without his voice wavering.

</p><p>Even if he does want to hit Derek for getting his and Stiles’ private mess out in front of a visiting pack.

</p><p>Scott eyes Stiles worriedly as he steps into the center of the ravine, after the Anderson Second has helped Maya up off the ground and over to Mrs. McCall. Stiles smiles grimly, shakes his head slightly, and announces the last match of the day.

</p><p>“Scott McCall and Xavi Anderson.”

</p><p>The Anderson Alpha gets up from his seat against the rock wall and cracks his knuckles ominously.

</p><p>Stiles holds back from rolling his eyes for the sake of not offending the Anderson pack.

</p><p>Scott faces the Alpha in the ring, smiling. He’s never ranked with the rest of the fighters in their pack, because Scott doesn’t fight unless he can help it. He doesn’t even attend practice with Stiles and the rest of the Betas.

</p><p>But Scott is better than Boyd and Erica, maybe even Stiles and Malia, if he’s fighting for something he believes in, or to protect someone he cares about. Stiles can see the determined look in his eyes that usually signals that he’s not pulling his punches.

</p><p>The Anderson Alpha drops to all fours, cracks his spine, and grows fur all over his body. His clothes rip and fall off until he’s a massive wolf. It’s the same size as Derek’s wolf, when he fully shifts, but instead of pitch black, Alpha Anderson’s wolf is a beautiful, silky grey-white. His eyes are the same blood red.

</p><p>Stiles feels his own eyes widen; he thought only the Hales could undergo a full shift like this. He’s certainly never heard of anyone but Derek’s family doing it, even Malia’s mother.

</p><p>Hackles raised, drool dripping off his fangs, the Alpha circles around Scott, looking for an opening.

</p><p>Scott himself doesn’t adopt a stance, lower his center of gravity, or even turn to face Alpha Anderson. He keeps his eyes forward, patient.

</p><p>When the wolf is at Scott’s back, it pounces. That’s the best word for it: the wolf jumps, all four feet in the air, tail down, and soars to the place where Scott was standing.

</p><p>When Alpha Anderson lifts his feet into the air, Scott sidesteps gently to the left, pivoting his body so one foot stays in place. As the wolf lands, turning his body at the last second towards Scott, Scott has already wound his right hand up, claws out to strike. He slams his fist fingers first into the Alpha’s face.

</p><p>Scott’s claws dig into the wolf’s snout and the fur around his eyes, letting out a trickle of blood, but it’s not enough to stop Alpha Anderson from snapping his jaws around Scott’s stomach.

</p><p>Stiles can feel his heart stop for a moment when he sees Scott’s organs peeking through the hole in his stomach.

</p><p>He feels the bile rising in his throat; this kind of bite wound can be lethal for werewolves, if it’s from an Alpha. An Alpha’s bite, even more than their claws, can stop werewolf healing. Including, though rarely as much of an issue, their immune system.

</p><p>Which means bite wounds to the stomach lead to serious infections. Because werewolf metabolisms are so strong, you can’t even treat them with antibiotics.

</p><p>Stiles has watched someone die to this kind of bite before. It’s not pretty.

</p><p>Derek stands up from his seat, no doubt thinking the same thing as Stiles, but Stiles reaches Alpha Anderson first.

</p><p>He swings onto the wolf’s back and jabs the thumbs of both his hands into the muscle between the wolf’s jaws, forcing them painfully open. “Run, Scott,” Stiles shouts.

</p><p>When the Alpha tries to bite at Scott as he backs away, Stiles grips the sides of Alpha Anderson’s neck with his forearms and squeezes tightly, cutting off blood flow.

</p><p>It takes a minute to take effect, but Derek is between the wolf and Scott before he can bite again, hands gripping the fur of the Alpha’s chest, pushing him back. After a few moments of snapping jaws in Derek’s face, the wolf’s eyes loll back into his head, and he crumples to the ground, unconscious.

</p><p>The Anderson Second is rushing over, but before she can get there, Stiles is dodging out of the way of a claw going straight for his groin.

</p><p>The Left Hand, Sam, is standing in front of Stiles, face calm as ever, but eyes stormy. Stiles rolls back and away, stands up with his hands out and lowered, wrists visible. “He’s uninjured. There’s no need to fight. Sit back down before my Alpha tries to kill you,” Stiles says calmly.

</p><p>Sam eyes Derek, who had rushed into the Left Hand’s space, eyes flashing red. He looks down at the man née wolf on the ground, sitting up and holding his neck, and nods to Derek. He keeps his eyes on Stiles, though.

</p><p>The Anderson Second helps her Alpha to his feet, while Derek continues to stand between Stiles and Sam. Stiles wants to roll his eyes again, but instead he just says, “Alpha,” in a soft voice.

</p><p>Derek nods, shoulders dropping slightly, and goes back to sit down.

</p><p>“What is this?” Alpha Anderson says, laughing. “It’s like your Second has you on a leash. What kind of Alpha are you, Hale? I thought you were my cousin’s son, but you’re barely fit to use the Hale name.”

</p><p>Stiles turns to the man, barely holding back the cold fury he feels in his chest. “Don’t test my Alpha’s patience, Alpha Anderson. What you did to our pack member was dangerous, foolish, and grounds to expel you and your pack from our territory.”

</p><p>“For what? A simple bite?” Pedro calls from the crowd.

</p><p>“An Alpha’s bite. If you don’t know the consequences, then your pack is seriously failing in your education, kid,” Stiles says, stepping forward into Alpha Anderson’s space. “As an ally of our pack, you will apologize to Scott McCall for endangering his life, and apologize to my Alpha for the insult to his name. Am I understood?”

</p><p>Stiles hears murmurs from the Anderson contingent of the crowd, but he can see real fear on the face of the Anderson Second. Stiles is glad there’s <em>someone</em> who understands the severity of what their Alpha did.

</p><p>Stiles knows this harsh tension in the air, the sharp edge in his nose; more than even experience telling him so, he can smell that they’re teetering on the edge of a pack war. Alpha Anderson looks just as resolute and proud as he always does, and Stiles holds his gaze for an agonizing minute.

</p><p>They’re of a height, and Stiles has a clear view of the man’s eyes. He feels no fear, though he knows exactly how terrible the possible consequences of this moment might be. Even a moment of hesitation, even a single flinch, might break this into a battle that tears both packs apart. Just as bad in the world of werewolf politics, backing down means their pack losing face, losing connections, losing territory, and opening themselves up to invasion from this pack in the future.

</p><p>Stiles doesn’t waver an inch, though.

</p><p>When Alpha Anderson drops his gaze from Stiles’, he can hear the audible exhale from both packs.

</p><p>The Alpha turns to the crowd, laughs, and says merrily, “I’m sorry for exposing you to danger, young McCall. I’m sorry to insult your name, Alpha Hale.” His face, his voice, and his bearing all are as if there wasn’t any tension between the two packs just a second ago, but Stiles can see the creases on his forehead that weren’t there before, the slight trembling of his hands that must be from keeping his claws from coming out.

</p><p>Really, there’s a reason Alphas aren’t supposed to take part in negotiations. Their instincts and power are difficult to control, even at Xavi Anderson’s age. Stiles eyes the Anderson Second sharply and raises an eyebrow. She flattens her mouth, nods, and exposes her neck to him.

</p><p>Stiles places a hand gently on her shoulder, careful not to touch her neck, and turns back to the crowd. “We’ll stop the fighting for today. We’ll meet again tomorrow to pick up where we left off, but for the meantime, let’s go eat, shall we?”

</p><p>The whoops and claps from the crowd are no doubt equal parts relief, nerves, and genuine excitement.

</p><p> 


</p>
<hr/><p> 

</p><p>Derek grabs Stiles’ arm on the way out of the ravine, after Stiles has erased the chalk from the rock wall to leave the place as they found it that morning. They’re the only ones there, even Melissa having headed back to eat.

</p><p>He holds Stiles firmly enough that Stiles knows better than to brush him off. Derek runs his hands over Stiles’ head, his face, his shoulders, his chest, his back, his stomach, his ass, kneels down and feels each leg separately. He even picks up Stiles’ feet to check the soles of his shoes.

</p><p>Stiles rolls his eyes. “Are you done inspecting me?” he asks, hungry and grumpy.

</p><p>Derek frowns, opens his mouth, closes it, and shakes his head. “You’re the most frustrating person I’ve ever met.”

</p><p>The smile on Stiles’ face feels as brittle as his heart. He has no idea what the inspection meant, if it was supposed to be checking Stiles for injuries or, more likely, imperfections. He doesn't care, he just wants to get some food and then leave. He certainly doesn’t want to spend any more time with Derek, thinking about what they could have had. 

</p><p>“I’m <em>so</em> happy for you. Now: may. I. Go.” Stiles says each word pointedly.

</p><p>Derek opens his mouth again, closes it, growls in frustration, and lets go of Stiles’ arms. Stiles slides smoothly past him, not even allowing their shoulders to brush. 

</p><p> 


</p>
<hr/><p> 

</p><p>Stiles wakes up and rolls over to Derek’s side of the bed instinctively, hands seeking to touch or hold or pull, but there’s no one there. The sheets are cold.

</p><p>Even if he’s doing his best to avoid thinking about Derek, the need for him is like muscle memory. To lay here, looking into pale grey eyes, and talk for hours. To feel his skin as a reassurance that they’re both alive. To kiss him and be kissed.

</p><p>It’s like instinct.

</p><p>And having him gone, it’s like walking down a staircase and missing a step. Like every time he turns to find Derek, everything crumples and sags, hurts and hurts and hurts and hurts.

</p><p>But his pack needs him, even if Derek doesn’t. Even if it didn’t mean anything to him, when it meant so much to Stiles, there’s no choice but to keep going.

</p><p>Sixteen days. Sixteen days since Derek…

</p><p>He shouldn’t be counting. If he doesn’t count, eventually it’ll get easier to let a day go by and not think about what they had.

</p><p>Eventually.

</p><p> 


</p>
<hr/><p> 

</p><p>The Anderson pack watches him warily when Stiles arrives at the pack house. Some look at him with fear, but the majority have anger in their eyes. They’re probably pissed that he choked out their Alpha. Or that he stood up to their Alpha. Or that he forced their Alpha to back down.

</p><p>Actually, yeah, there are a whole host of reasons to be pissed at him. Stiles doesn’t react, keeps his pulse and emotions carefully in check, and waits for his pack to show.

</p><p>Derek is the first to arrive, and he immediately positions himself between Stiles and the assorted Anderson pack members.

</p><p>One of the younger members of the pack, a quiet girl with long jet black hair and brown skin (“warm,” he can hear Lydia saying in the back of his mind, “orange or red undertones.”), walks up to Stiles and he’s sure Derek almost growls at her.

</p><p>She looks like she might bolt at the smallest provocation, but not even Derek standing menacingly in front of her stops her from asking, “what kind of martial arts do you practice?” Her voice is soft, but it doesn’t waver. Stiles is inordinately proud of someone who isn’t even in his pack.

</p><p>He steps closer to her, around Derek, so he can talk like a normal person. “It depends on whom I’m fighting and what I need from the fight.”

</p><p>Her eyes widen slightly, like she hadn’t considered that, and Stiles can see the precise shade of brown they are. It’s a dark, cool color, like the color of the cliff rocks out in the preserve. “It’s not… you can do more than one?”

</p><p>“Of course. Or, wait, did you mean the rhetorical ‘you’ or like, me, there?”

</p><p>“... both?”

</p><p>“Of course to the first, yes to the second.”

</p><p>“How many?” she asks.

</p><p>“Uh, gosh, let me see… Muay Thai, FMA, Aikido, Krav Maga for work, a bit of Taekkyeon, and some Karate and Taekwondo. I’m most in practice with FMA and Aikido.”

</p><p>The girls eyes may have been wide before, but now they are filled with wonder. “I… I’ve been doing Karate after school for a few years. I really like it.”

</p><p>“That’s great!” Stiles says. “Karate’s a lot of fun. I’m glad you enjoy it.”

</p><p>“Can you… what are some of the ones you said. I’ve never heard of MFA.”

</p><p>Stiles laughs. “FMA. Yeah, it’s usually called ‘Arnis de Mano’, or Kali, or maybe Eskrima, if you’ve heard of those? FMA stands for Filipino Martial Arts, it’s sort of the umbrella term.”

</p><p>“What’s it like?” she asks.

</p><p>Stiles thinks for a second. “Brutal.” He laughs at the look on her face. “Don’t worry, I don’t use it against anyone who can’t heal themselves. If you see me using a weapon, I’m using FMA. What kind of Karate do you practice?”

</p><p>He listens to her chatter excitedly for ten minutes about her dojo (shotokan), her rank (brown belt, and she’s very proud of it), and the recent competition she went to. Stiles makes appropriate sounds of encouragement and awe, and they’re so engrossed in their conversation that he doesn’t notice someone calling to them. It’s not until he sees the Anderson Second storming over to them that he realizes that almost everyone is assembled, but the girl is mid sentence and Stiles doesn’t want to interrupt.

</p><p>“<em>Maria Elena Anderson</em>!” the Second says. “What are you doing bothering the Hale Second? You haven’t even greeted your Alpha yet this morning.” 

</p><p>“But <em>mom</em>,” the girl, Maria Elena, says. “I was talking to him about… some, Karate stuff.” Her voice is hesitant, like she’s embarrassed to bring up what she had been gushing to Stiles about just a few moments before.

</p><p>“Your <em>Alpha</em>,” her mother repeats, “was wondering what happened to you. We’re outside of our territory, with a foreign pack, and all you can think about is your martial arts?” She turns her eyes to the sky and says “<em>Ay, Dios mio</em>, where have I gone wrong in raising you.”

</p><p>Stiles can see the girl’s face crumple, and he carefully bows his head to her mother. “It was no problem, and no bother. You have raised a fine daughter, ma’am, and I was happy to talk to her. I’m sorry for keeping her from her Alpha.”

</p><p>He steps back away from them both, giving Maria Elena the chance to leave gracefully, without losing face. She looks between him, her mother, and the throng of Anderson werewolves that must hide her Alpha, and for a second he thinks she’s going to try to argue with her mother.

</p><p>But then they make eye contact, her mom raises an eyebrow, and she hangs her head in defeat, trudging over to the rest of the pack.

</p><p>Stiles meets the Second’s cold gaze with a smile and another bow of the head before he moves back to his own pack.

</p><p>Still, when the group arrives at the ravine, Maria Elena sits down next to Stiles in between the two packs.

</p><p> 


</p>
<hr/><p> 

</p><p>Sitting with Elena (“only my mom calls me Maria Elena and only when she’s really mad”) is interesting. For one, Stiles can see the rest of the Anderson pack glaring at the two of them. For another, Derek is watching them with a look on his face that is utterly unreadable to Stiles.

</p><p>But the biggest reason is because she keeps a running commentary as her mother fights.

</p><p>Apparently Elena has a lot of thoughts on how werewolves fight, and she’s quite vocal about them.

</p><p>“They just waste so much movement, you know?” she says under her breath, watching her mom slash at Kira. They’re still on the first fight of the day, but it’s been almost 15 minutes of circling and testing defenses. Kira and Maria are clearly both experienced fighters, and Stiles knows that as soon as one of them makes even the smallest mistake, the fight is liable to be over.

</p><p>“When you’ve got superhuman strength, even one hit is enough,” Stiles explains. “Why work on conserving energy when you hunt as a pack?”

</p><p>“But what if you’re stranded? Or you’re the one being hunted?” Elena argues, as Kira jumps over a low kick that’s just too far to counterattack.

</p><p>“Most werewolves would consider that scenario not worth fighting in. Better to flee and find your pack, than risk your life fighting alone.”

</p><p>“What if you don’t have a pack? Or you can’t get to them?”

</p><p>“A packless wolf is a dead wolf.”

</p><p>“That’s stupid,” Elena says vehemently. “My sensei always says you shouldn’t give up until you’ve done everything in your power to win.”

</p><p>“Your sensei’s not a wolf, are they?” Stiles asks, smiling.

</p><p>Kira is holding her bokuto low to the ground, either to block more hits or because she’s getting tired. Stiles has trained with Kira, he knows better than to think she’d be tired this early, so it’s possible it’s a feint.

</p><p>He wonders if Maria realizes that too.

</p><p>“No.”

</p><p>“Humans get it better than werewolves do; you’re smart to listen to your sensei. No one is dead until they’re buried in the ground.”

</p><p>Maria aims high, claws to Kira’s throat, seemingly expecting Kira not to be able to block in time.

</p><p>Stiles can see it in Kira’s stance once Maria is committed to the attack, though: she never had any intention of blocking.

</p><p>She pivots at the last second, a step to the side, and swings her bokuto up and across, a diagonal line from hip to shoulder.

</p><p>He can hear the crack of wood on bone as Maria is flung back. Elena lets out a little gasp next to Stiles, hands on her chest.

</p><p>Stiles is about to get up to call the match, but Maria spits out blood and stands. Her feet are shaky, but the determination in her eyes says she won’t be beat here.

</p><p>Unfortunately, Kira using the feint might have cost her the fight, Stiles realizes. Kira is faster than any werewolf, but a moment’s hesitation can be enough to catch up, and Kira’s weakest point in a fight is her mental fortitude. If her opponents start playing mind games, Kira is much more likely to slip up.

</p><p>And Stiles knows Kira realizes this too. He’s discussed it with her before, and they’ve been working on it with Scott and Malia, who are easily the best in the pack with this kind of fighting.

</p><p>Kira retreats, keeping her distance from Maria, but the Anderson Second is already rushing in, putting Kira on the defensive.

</p><p>Kira raises her bokuto above her head, as if expecting the attack to be a ruse, but there’s a breath where she drops her hands slightly and Stiles can see doubt fill her eyes.

</p><p>Maria takes that opportunity to grab Kira by the throat -

</p><p>and slam her into the ground, holding her there one handed.

</p><p>After a minute of struggle, Kira taps out, and Stiles calls the victory to Maria.

</p><p>Stiles can’t tell if Elena is excited or put out by the result.

</p><p>Stiles hands off refereeing to Derek when he gets into the middle of the ravine across from the girl who beat Boyd, and he can see the Alpha leaning over to talk to Elena. The baseless jealousy that flares in his chest pisses him off more than seeing Derek himself does.

</p><p>Stiles grabs the two parts of the rowan-wood staff he carries in his travel bag and screws them together, letting the motion calm his frustrations.

</p><p>The girl across from him, Isabella he thinks, watches him carefully. He knows she won’t underestimate him like Pedro did.

</p><p>But he also knows he’s got an advantage over her when the fight starts and she immediately tries to move in and get a hold on him.

</p><p>He holds the staff more like a longsword than a spear, one hand on the base and one hand further up, and it’s all too easy to smack her head in a horizontal swing, almost baseball like, before she can touch him.

</p><p>It thwacks against her skull, but she rolls smoothly instead of slamming into the ground.

</p><p>She moves in again, and when Stiles swings, she ducks under the blow. But rather than wait for her to reach him, Stiles steps up to her and slams the butt end of the staff into her temple.

</p><p><em>Crack</em>. She goes down hard.

</p><p>Stiles backs off, waits for the count, but Isabella drags herself to her feet at the ninth count. Her stance is unstable, her eyes unfocused, and Stiles is a little frightened of doing more damage than he already has. He’s not a sadist.

</p><p>But he does wonder what she has to prove.

</p><p>Still, when she rushes him, stumbling and unsure, Stiles doesn’t hesitate. It’s more muscle memory than intention when he drops his stance lower, pulls his hand at the base of the staff back, and then jabs the end into her throat.

</p><p>Stiles can hear the sick crunch of an impact against her windpipe. It’s one of the worst sounds he’s ever heard; no part of the human body should snap like that. 

</p><p>He drops his staff and rushes to her side, calling for Melissa. He knows the danger in humans is enormous when they break the cartilage around the trachea, and Stiles isn’t going to fuck around just because she’s a werewolf.

</p><p>“Do we need a respirator?” he asks, moving to grab the woman’s feet so the two of them can move her off the field. “In case she’s not getting air to her lungs? Would that even help?”

</p><p>Melissa puts a hand on Stiles’ shoulder under the medical tent. “Breathe.”

</p><p>He hadn’t realized he’d been on the edge of panic until he heard that word in Melissa’s calm, controlled voice.

</p><p>Stiles isn’t like the kid he was in high school. He’s worked hard to control his body and his feelings; the martial arts were a part of that, just as much as the therapist he’s been seeing for near on three years now.

</p><p>But he’s not perfect. When his control slips, it’s all too easy to fall back into old habits, old insecurities, and old panic.

</p><p>Melissa tells him to go back to the fights, that she’ll take care of Isabella.

</p><p>He does so reluctantly.

</p><p> 


</p>
<hr/><p> 

</p><p>Stiles doesn’t get back until Malia’s fight is partway over, sitting down next to Elena on the other side from where Derek himself is watching. Elena grins at Stiles excitedly and starts explaining the state of the fight.

</p><p>“Alpha isn’t transforming, so he’s been going at your beta with his claws. She’s really good.”

</p><p>“Damn right she is,” Derek all but growls.

</p><p>Elena gives him a look, and Stiles laughs weakly, patting her back. “Don’t worry about him, he’s just grumpy. Malia is one of the best fighters in our pack.”

</p><p>It’s close. Malia is bleeding from a cut on her forehead, but Alpha Anderson has long gashes on his right arm and left side. Stiles breathes out a long sigh of relief when he sees no bite marks.

</p><p>The problem with watching weres fight each other is that the more experienced they are, the longer the fight goes. Stiles has watched Derek fight another Alpha for something like thirty minutes, until both were bloody and barely able to stand.

</p><p>The difference between humans fighting weres and weres fighting weres is simple: fear.

</p><p>Humans enter these fights with the knowledge that one misstep will kill them. They end combat brutally and quickly, because to do otherwise is to court death. The longer a fight goes, the more likely they are to lose everything.

</p><p>Werewolves, on the whole, don’t fear wounds in the same way that humans do. A wound to a werewolf is fleeting, a nuisance at most. This is especially true of born wolves, in Stiles’ experience. The stronger the wolf, the less likely they are to take their wounds in combat seriously.

</p><p>It’s no wonder hunters are so hated. To instill the fear of death in a people it otherwise would not touch, hunters present a threat just as existential as it is tangible.

</p><p>But this fact, combined with their predator instincts, means that weres tend to take their time. Combat is something you do to wear down your prey until they’re too exhausted to flee the pack.

</p><p>Even knowing that doesn’t make it easier to watch Malia and Alpha Anderson exchange blows for close to 20 minutes straight, until both are bloody.

</p><p>Malia has the worst of it, though.

</p><p>She’s panting, bent over double, the blood from the cut on her forehead keeping her right eye closed, and one arm hanging limp at her side where it was crushed by the Alpha’s fist.

</p><p>The fight was never in Malia’s favor. Her strength is her ability to read her enemies and confuse them with feints and quick movements, but an Alpha doesn’t care about feints or quick movements when they have overwhelming strength, especially an Alpha with a pack the size of the Andersons’.

</p><p>But Malia doesn’t go down easy. Even at a heavy disadvantage, Alpha Anderson is covered in wounds serious enough to kill a Beta before he manages to trap her under his weight and force her to tap out.

</p><p>Derek stands up, as Stiles helps take Malia to the medical tent. He’s waiting when Stiles comes back and announces the next fight: “Derek Hale and Sam Anderson.”

</p><p>The unassuming Left Hand that had attacked Stiles the previous day stands up from the Anderson crowd and walks to the middle, eyes leveled on Derek.

</p><p>Derek is still looking at Stiles, and he’s honestly had about enough of this shit. The combination of frustration at Derek’s behavior, exhaustion from his fight, and the tight, coiling fear that he might have hurt someone unnecessarily are almost too much to keep trapped in his chest. Stiles closes his eyes and breathes out long and slow through his mouth before indicating to the fighters that they can begin.

</p><p>They’re on each other before Stiles can blink, before he can sit down next to Elena and watch the fight. The spray of blood where Derek’s claws raked through Sam’s chest almost hits Stiles, even with a solid six feet between them.

</p><p>This is the scarier side of werewolf combat: when both parties don’t fear death and simply want to win at any cost.

</p><p>It’s shorter and more violent than any of the other fights so far. When their movements let up and one of them is on the ground, it’s Sam, Derek looming over him, face covered in blood. Stiles can see where Sam clawed at one of Derek’s eyes, and where said eye is healing slowly. Gross.

</p><p>Sam himself is breathing wetly, raggedly, and Stiles and Maria quickly move him to Melissa to get whatever treatment he needs. Alpha Anderson follows a pace behind Stiles, waits for him to leave the tent, and leans into his space. “We’ll be welcoming you to the family soon enough, boy.”

</p><p>Stiles can see Maria stiffen next to him, though she doesn’t move or say anything, and Stiles wants to vomit. Not at the proposition itself, crass as it is, but at the timing; a senior pack member lying on the ground, blood in his lungs, and the Alpha is hitting on someone. Stiles is offended for Sam’s sake.

</p><p>Before Stiles can give Alpha Anderson a piece of his mind, Derek is between them, roaring. His roar is intense, more so than Stiles has ever heard from Derek, the kind of sound that you can feel in your shins and ribs, that lingers in your ears for seconds after it finishes.

</p><p>Alpha Anderson raises both hands, smiling, and turns to move back to the crowd. Stiles can see the insulted look on Derek’s face at an Alpha turning their back to him, the desire to claw down a threat to his pack, but Stiles steps between them.

</p><p>“That was highly inappropriate, Alpha Anderson,” he says loudly enough for both packs to hear. “Your Left Hand is bleeding out on the ground. Please have some more thought for your pack before you try hitting on me.” He says it in his most professional and detached voice, the one he saves for these kinds of official pack events, and he feels satisfaction swell in him at the horrified looks from the Anderson pack, the stifled laugh from Maria next to him, and the way Alpha Anderson’s neck turns red with either rage or humiliation.

</p><p>Rather than give the Alpha enough time to come up with a quick retort to save face, Stiles power walks back to the ravine, keeping his back firmly towards where he knows the Alpha stands, and addresses the gathered crowd.

</p><p>“Fights are over for today. We’ll meet back tomorrow for the last day of fights. Please come by the house, though, because we’ve put together a party I’m sure everyone will enjoy.”

</p><p>Everyone trickles out up the path that Stiles is standing on, looking down at their feet or mumbling to themselves, and he doesn’t have to look back to know that Alpha Anderson is glaring at him murderously.

</p><p>Elena waits with Stiles until everyone has left, and they walk back together, talking about the day’s fights.

</p><p> 


</p>
<hr/><p> 

</p><p>It’s not supposed to hurt this much, is what Stiles thinks to himself when he sees Kiyoko on Derek’s lap in the main sitting room, looking up adoringly at her Alpha. Sometimes you fall in love with people who don’t feel the same way as you do, but it’s not supposed to feel like this.

</p><p>Kiyoko slaps her little baby hands on Derek’s cheeks and gurgles happily, and Derek looks at her like there’s nothing more important in the world. Like the house isn’t full of foreign werewolves.

</p><p>Stiles had thought, not even a month ago, that Derek might look at <em>him</em> like that. He can feel the cold pressure in his chest that pushes his throat closed, that makes him want to hyperventilate, or cry, or collapse to the ground.

</p><p>It’s not supposed to hurt this much. It’s not supposed to feel like the world is ending. Stiles is a grown man, who works at the goddamn FBI, like a certified badass. He’s not supposed to look at the man he’s fallen in love with and think ‘no one but you’ when that man never had the same feelings for him.

</p><p>All of his feelings of resentment, and anger, melt away and all he’s left with is a barren feeling in his gut.

</p><p>Stiles isn’t sure how he managed to delude himself into thinking he was good enough for Derek. He’s not unattractive, but he hasn’t been stopped in the street by strangers asking if he does modeling like Derek has. He’s strong, but he’s never beaten Derek in a fight. He’s nice, but he’s not the kind of selfless that drives Derek to work endless nights sorting pack finances, or talking to a concerned Beta, or babysitting the kids.

</p><p>Derek shouldn’t settle for him. Derek should find a mate who is just as good, just as beautiful, just as strong, and just as kind.

</p><p>He watches Lydia move in and lean down to kiss Derek, watches Derek smile at her, and it’s like his body slams into a brick wall but his mind just passes right through.

</p><p>Stiles turns to leave the room, knuckles white where he grips the door jamb.

</p><p>How stupid was he that he thought they might have something? Not even a week before the deception began, before Derek all but said ‘I don’t care for you like that,’ Stiles had been working up the nerve to ask Derek about being mates. About making their relationship public in the pack. About if Derek ever wanted to try to adopt.

</p><p>How stupid was he? The question echoes in his head, but he feels the answer in his chest like knives under his skin.

</p><p>Stiles is a good Beta. A useful Second. Nothing more.

</p><p>He considers for a horrible moment what it would be like to just leave the pack entirely. Move to LA, focus on his job, help support his dad’s eventual retirement. He knows he can’t, leaving Scott like that would kill him, but, God.

</p><p>God.

</p><p>Stiles wipes away the moisture in his eyes with the palm of his hand and staggers away from the sitting room that holds every hope he had for the future, now fallow and acrid in his eyes. 

</p><p>He moves almost robotically up the stairs to the second floor, ignoring Elena when she calls out to him, up to the attic, out the window and onto the roof. He lays there, looking up at the night’s sky, and wonders if it will rain.

</p><p>He doesn’t sleep that night.

</p><p> 


</p>
<hr/><p> 

</p><p>Stiles slips down from the roof before dawn comes, before anyone has any right to be awake, so he can drive home and change before the day’s fights. He doesn’t even see Derek in the living room until the Alpha speaks.

</p><p>“Where were you?”

</p><p>Stiles has to choke back a shout to avoid waking up a house full of werewolves. “What?” he whispers.

</p><p>“Your car was here all night. Where were you?”

</p><p>Stiles sighs, runs a hand through his unshowered hair, and wonders if he can somehow break away from this conversation painlessly. “I was on the roof,” he goes with.

</p><p>“The roof,” Derek repeats.

</p><p>“The one and only.” Stiles turns to the front door, ready to leave, but Derek is up and grabbing his wrist before he can take a step.

</p><p>“I miss you,” Derek says.

</p><p>Stiles feels his heart stop.

</p><p>“I miss us. I miss our den. Why… why won’t you look at me?” Derek crowds into Stiles’ front, but Stiles turns his head.

</p><p>It’s too much.

</p><p>“What do you want, Derek?” Stiles asks. “Is it sex?”

</p><p>Derek tries to put a hand on Stiles’ cheek, to turn his face towards him, but Stiles grabs his wrist.

</p><p>“You could get sex anywhere in this city, in this country really, if you wanted. You know people think you’re attractive. The sex was good, but it wasn’t <em>that</em> good. What is it?”

</p><p>“I don’t -”

</p><p>“Is it power? Do you enjoy making me feel like this?” Stiles’ voice is quiet, calm, belying the intense beat of his heart that he knows Derek can hear. “Is that what this is?”

</p><p>Derek doesn’t speak. He doesn’t move either. Stiles knows, for his Derek anyway, that this must be shock or confusion. Derek tends to stillness when he’s upset and doesn’t know what to do.

</p><p>Which is absurd, because why would <em>Derek</em> be upset?

</p><p>“I counted last night,” Stiles says. “It’s been almost six months, since we started…” His voice breaks off. “Were you ashamed of me?”

</p><p>Derek puts his hands on Stiles’ shoulders, Stiles can imagine him opening his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.

</p><p>“You didn’t kiss me when anyone could see. You didn’t let me touch you - no hugs, not even holding hands - for a half a year.” Stiles laughs wetly, looks up at the ceiling trying not to let the tears that sound heralds fall. “At some point I realized I must be doing something wrong. At some point I started to think maybe something about me was wrong.”

</p><p>Derek tries to pull Stiles in, to pull him right against his chest, but Stiles has turned so all Derek can do is push Stiles’ shoulder into his sternum.

</p><p>“If it was one thing, you know? I could have handled it. If it was just that you wouldn’t look at me around the pack. If it was just that you didn’t take me out, or hang out with me, or do anything with me besides sex. If it was just that you only said ‘I love you’ over text. If it was just that you freaked out when I hugged you at the house, even when we were alone. I could have handled it.”

</p><p>Derek’s grip on him loosens as Stiles speaks, until he’s backing away, until his legs hit the back of the couch with his head in his hands. Stiles watches him do it, a detached curiosity making him wonder why this of all things would make Derek react.

</p><p>“I didn’t realize until that… until two weeks ago,” Stiles says. “But I’ve never actually seen your bed. Not even once. I’ve seen Scott’s bed and I haven’t seen yours.”

</p><p>Derek is crying. It’s the soft, soundless shoulder shaking that Stiles has only seen on anniversaries of the fire, when he walked in on him and Cora talking in hushed voices.

</p><p>“I was waiting for you to say something,” he continues. “When they said Lydia should be your mate. I thought - I was still trying to delude myself, I think - that you would say something. Surely, even if you don’t really like me like that,” Stiles says, pausing to laugh to himself, “God I sound like a middle school girl. Even if you don’t care for me like that, I’d be a better choice to be fake mates with than her, you know? And then you didn’t say anything.”

</p><p>Stiles can see twin trails down Derek’s cheeks, watches in fascination as they dribble onto the floor. It feels like something Stiles isn’t meant to see.

</p><p>“I can’t blame you. I wouldn’t want to be my mate either.”

</p><p>Derek makes a choked off sound.

</p><p>“But it made me think about everything. The last six months. And I realized that maybe I was misinterpreting. Maybe there wasn’t as much between us as I thought there was. And, I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty bad at casual sex,” Stiles explains offhandedly. “So, when I saw you acting with Lydia like I’d always hoped you’d eventually be with me, I realized that I was holding out for something that wasn’t coming. Sorry it took me so long to get my shit together.”

</p><p>He’s not so completely detached from what he’s seeing and feeling that the actual, full body sob Derek lets out doesn’t send a pang through him, but it’s close.

</p><p>Stiles is the kind of dissociative his field trainer had warned him to be careful of, when they went to a kidnapping ring bust early on in his internship. It wasn’t the violence, or the guns, that had made him feel like this - he was used to much worse from protecting Beacon Hills and the pack - it was the victims, emaciated and just as frightened of the FBI as they were of their captors. He remembers Jess sitting him down outside the building with her jacket around his shoulders and her voice in his ear. He remembers her office later, when they were back in the LA office, and she told him to be careful of that feeling.

</p><p>He repeats her words in his head, like a mantra: I am alive. I am here. I am present. I am alive. I am here. I am present.

</p><p>Stiles knows academically that he is going to be furious with himself later if he doesn’t learn why Derek is crying, if he doesn’t hear Derek’s side of this, but Stiles isn’t sure he’s ready to hear anymore of Derek’s voice this morning than he already has. He decides to leave that as a problem for his future self.

</p><p>“I’m going home. I’ll see you later,” Stiles says to Derek where he sits on the couch.

</p><p>Derek doesn’t move to stop him as he leaves.

</p><p> 


</p>
<hr/><p> 

</p><p>After a shower and what little food his stomach would allow him to cram into it, Stiles decides to call his therapist. At six in the morning.

</p><p>The thing is, he knows the guy will answer. Not in the way Stiles would, with years of supernatural emergencies drilled into his body, but because Dr. Njenga is the type of guy to wake up at six in the morning. Stiles cannot even begin to imagine what that must be like.

</p><p>When he answers, his voice is just as warm and excited as it ever is when Stiles calls him. “Stiles!” he says, voice the melodic side of deep, the kind of thing that makes you instinctively feel as if he must be a good singer. “It is good to hear from you this morning. What has happened?”

</p><p>Stiles has a standing agreement with Dr. Njenga that he can call whenever he needs, something he has been assured is common with therapists who work with law enforcement. He still feels a little guilty. “I told Derek about…” He can’t bring himself to say, but he doesn’t need to.

</p><p>“How did he react?” Dr. Njenga says, because he is either a saint, a mind reader, or maybe some combination of the two.

</p><p>“He…” Stiles begins, before trailing off. “He started crying.”

</p><p>“Okay.”

</p><p>“I wasn’t expecting it.”

</p><p>“Indeed. Did you say everything you needed, to him?”

</p><p>“Yeah. Yeah, I did.”

</p><p>“So you’ll just have to wait until he’s ready to respond,” Dr. Njenga says, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world.

</p><p>Stiles wants to tear his hair out. “What if…”

</p><p>“Does he have people around who care about him? Who he trusts?”

</p><p>Stiles thinks about Cora. “Yeah.”

</p><p>“Then if he needs help, he can get it. He probably needs time, Stiles.” Dr. Njenga’s voice has the kind of gentle kindness that is difficult to put on intentionally, the kind that comes from years of taking care of people.

</p><p>“What if he bottles it up?”

</p><p>“That is his decision. They are his feelings, and he is allowed to react to them as he pleases.” There’s a pause. “If you’re worried, have you considered letting the people he trusts know that he might need help?”

</p><p>“I texted her when I got back.”

</p><p>“Good.” Dr. Njenga pauses again, and when he speaks his tone has changed slightly. “What are <em>you</em> feeling right now?”

</p><p>“I…” Stiles pauses, takes inventory. “Anxiety, in my stomach. Worthlessness. I think anger.”

</p><p>“Okay,” Dr. Njenga says. “Why do you feel worthless, Stiles?”

</p><p>This is one of the biggest topics that they’ve discussed together. One of the things that Stiles has been fighting day in and day out for the last few years. “I can’t do anything. I’m not good enough for him -“

</p><p>“Ah ah ah!” Dr. Njenga interrupts. “Be more precise, please.”

</p><p>Stiles sighs. “I feel like I can’t do anything, because he’s there and I’m here and I don’t - we’re not in a place where I can help.” He pauses to think. “I feel like I’m not good enough for him, because… he’s kind, and handsome, and so strong, but I’m not - I don’t <em>feel like</em> I am any of those. Or that I bring enough to the table to offset what I lack.”

</p><p>Dr. Njenga hums. These are familiar anxieties. “What brought up the worthlessness, Stiles?”

</p><p>“I… he was with his - his goddaughter last night. I saw them. It made me -“ Stiles doesn’t hold back his tears, for the first time in a week. “It made me think about what I wanted with him, and my fear that - that it never will happen.”

</p><p>“That you want kids?”

</p><p>“That and - just, to be together. He was with, um, the person I mentioned -“

</p><p>“The one he’s been pretending to date because of family drama?” Dr. Njenga clarifies.

</p><p>“Yeah. She kissed him with his goddaughter on his lap and it just made me think about - about everything.”

</p><p>Dr. Njenga hums again. “I can see how that would be upsetting,” he says, and Stiles wants to laugh. It’s exactly how he would imagine Dr. Njenga saying it, the mix of wry and soft that always hits Stiles right in the gut. It reminds him of his dad.

</p><p>“Y-yeah,” Stiles stutters, breath catching on a sob in his throat. “I also hurt someone yesterday - long story - and it kind of freaked me out.”

</p><p>“So you were already on high alert when you saw that?”

</p><p>Stiles nods, rolls his eyes at himself for nodding into his phone, and then says, “yes.”

</p><p>“So,” Dr. Njenga says, in the tone of voice that Stiles has been expecting, relying on really, this whole time. “Now that you know what they are, what are you going to do about your feelings?”

</p><p>Even knowing the question is coming, Stiles still doesn’t know how to respond. “I - I have a, a meeting - family stuff, same as I mentioned last time - that I need to be ready for. I’m going to see him at it.”

</p><p>“Do you feel ready?”

</p><p>Stiles lets out a breathy laugh. “Fuck no.”

</p><p>“So what do you need to do to be ready?” Dr. Njenga asks.

</p><p>“I - I need to finish eating. And then take a run. And if I’m still not feeling ready, I’ll try progressive relaxation until I need to leave.”

</p><p>“That seems like a plan. If you need me, call. I know how stressful this has been for you,” Dr. Njenga says, “and I want you to know that I’m proud of you. It takes a lot to prioritize yourself and your needs, especially when it means expressing them to someone you care about.”

</p><p>Stiles closes his eyes, counts to three, and then says, “thank you,” in a voice so soft you almost can’t hear it.

</p><p>“Of course. I’ll be out there running myself,” Dr. Njenga says conspiratorially, “so I’ll be thinking about you. Have a good day, Stiles.”

</p><p>“You too,” he says, voice a little stronger. “You too.”

</p><p>Stiles hears the line click and lets out his breath, curls up on his couch, and lets his body do what it needs to. When the tears are out and he’s feeling like someone carved out his feelings with a melon baller so there’s nothing but empty air inside him, he goes to the kitchen and reheats his breakfast.

</p><p>He needs to be ready for his fights.

</p><p> 


</p>
<hr/><p> 

</p><p>Derek doesn’t look at him at all, not even a glance, as they gather to head to the ravine, and all Stiles feels is relief.


</p><p>Maria Anderson, on the other hand, hasn’t stopped death glaring at Stiles since he stepped out of the Jeep that morning. He’s a little perplexed, but equally glad to be distracted from his relationship issues. Fuckbuddy issues. Whatever.

</p><p>When they reach the ravine, Scott is the one who stands up to oversee Stiles’ fight. He doesn’t question that Derek stays sitting, doesn’t think about it for even a moment, because all of his attention is on the Anderson Second. Her glare has intensified past death and into hell stages, where Stiles is surprised she hasn’t tripped over anything on her way into the center of the clearing. He looks through his bags, considering pulling out his twin sticks, but then he thinks about Elena, about the way her mother spoke about her martial arts, and puts his bag back down.

</p><p>Somehow Stiles’ mating rights feel less important in the moment than Elena seeing him fight with his hands. He gets the feeling Lydia or Malia will yell at him for being stupid if he loses this fight, but it’s worth it when Elena smiles at him with every ounce of joy in her body as he assumes the most basic <em>kamae</em> he knows. 

</p><p>Maria lets out a low snarl when she sees his form. His old <em>sensei</em> would probably have a similar reaction if she saw how rusty he is, but he has the feeling they’d be coming from entirely different places.

</p><p>She stalks forward, hands out in front of her, claws unsheathed and ready to strike. Stiles notes how unbalanced her stance is and sighs internally. He can already tell the fight is going to be a real pain.

</p><p>Stiles keeps the distance between them, inching backwards, waiting until Maria loses her patience and springs forward to attack -

</p><p>And then he kicks her in the face, his back foot slamming into her jaw.

</p><p>The sound is not particularly pleasant, nor is the way she goes sprawling on the ground. Stiles knows she is a competent fighter. He has seen her fight, seen her beat the shit out of his friends, so he’s not sure why she let him kick her like that.

</p><p>“Are you okay?” he asks, lowering his stance, as she spits onto the hard-packed dirt. Her eyes are burning.

</p><p>“Fuck you,” she snarls. “Fuck you.”

</p><p>“Uh, okay I guess.”

</p><p>Maria is up and on him before Stiles can properly return to his stance. He should have seen it coming, should have prepared for her to be using underhanded tactics, but she just didn’t seem the type. Not a great excuse when you can feel a werewolf’s hot breath on your cheek and it smells like she’s going to murder you.

</p><p>Stiles lets his instincts kick in. He’s been in this precise situation more times than he can count. Most of the time it doesn’t end well for him, but the nice thing about being the weak human is that supes always underestimate you, regardless of the circumstances.

</p><p>The thing about humans is, they’re hardy as fuck. Werewolves, on the whole, see humans as almost infantile. Like, if you set a wolf cub against a grown wolf, they’d never win. It’s simply a matter of scale. They tend to view Stiles through this lens; he’s like an experienced wolf in a cub’s body.

</p><p>But humans aren’t like wolf cubs. Humans are completely different animals. Stiles is more like a wolverine than a wolf cub; of course a wolverine won’t beat a wolf pack on its own, and even one on one the wolverine will struggle against the wolf, but you don’t tell a wolverine that, because you’ll just piss them off. The wolverine has met defeat again and again, and the thing it has learned to do is not to roll over but to spit in defeat’s face.

</p><p>So when Maria gets her claws in the meat of Stiles’ shoulders and shreds, as she pulls him down to the ground to choke, Stiles twists in her grip so that he is on top and falls onto her sternum with all of his body weight placed on his elbow.

</p><p>The crack that echoes throughout the ravine is met with complete silence.

</p><p>Stiles can only imagine the pain academically. He knows that moving your arms and stomach - really the whole upper body - is incredibly painful. He knows that breathing through a broken breastbone is even worse. He remembers his dad making him watch videos of people who survived car accidents where they described their injuries, and the man with the broken sternum described the crunching sound you could hear when he moved his arms to try to undo his seat belt.

</p><p>The sound Stiles had imagined isn’t half as horrifying as what he hears when Maria tries to lever herself over onto her side.

</p><p>Stiles holds her shoulders so she won’t irritate the wound. “Give it a few minutes,” he says to her. “Seriously, don’t move. Your bones are healing, give them a chance.”

</p><p>Her eyes, even glazed with pain, are full of resentment. “Are you happy?” she spits at him. “You won. You got her.”

</p><p>“What? Got who?” Stiles says while watching the mouth of the ravine where he saw Boyd run off to fetch Melissa. The poor woman is being seriously overworked these last few days. The pack had better chip in and get her a nice vacation.

</p><p>“My daughter, you fucking…” She looks like she’s trying not to cough, and Stiles can’t really blame her. “She’ll never respect me again.”

</p><p>Stiles sighs. “Respectfully, Second, but you’re one of the dumbest parents I’ve ever met. What the fuck makes you think I wanted to steal your daughter away from you? For that matter, what makes you think she wants to be stolen?”

</p><p>“I saw how she looked at you,” Maria says venomously.

</p><p>“Yeah, like a cool adult who does the same thing she does. There are probably four people at her Dojo she gives the same look to.” Stiles rubs his forehead. “Did you never consider that maybe she wanted you to be upset? That what she was looking for wasn’t a new parent, or boyfriend, or whatever sick thing you’re thinking, but someone who cares about her interests and validates her? That she might never need to attach herself so intently to a stranger if you encouraged her even a little bit?”

</p><p>Stiles isn’t sure how much of what he’s saying is actually true, but he has plenty of experience interacting with kids who have shitty parents (read: the whole pack minus Scott). He can see the look in Elena’s eye, the tension between them when Maria scolded her for talking to Stiles.

</p><p>When Maria’s eyes widen, he knows he hit the mark. “You have a great kid. Treat her like it. Ask her about karate and let her babble at you, regardless of how much you think it’s a stupid human thing, or boring, or whatever.”

</p><p>Maria doesn’t nod, doesn’t say anything, but her eyes are wide and staring into space as Stiles stands up.

</p><p>He decides that’s good enough.

</p><p>Stiles had temporarily forgotten that he was injured, but the look Melissa gives him when she hurries into the ravine is one of pure exasperation. He looks down to the blood running down his arms and attempts a halfhearted shrug, which ends up being an aborted shrug because <em>holy shit</em> his shoulders hurt.

</p><p>Melissa helps him move Maria back towards the sides where people are sitting before tending to his wounds.

</p><p>Even through the dull throb of his wounds and the stinging of the antiseptic Melissa is applying, Stiles can’t help but watch Derek’s fight with a mix of awe and dread.

</p><p>Everything Stiles knows about born wolves? None of it applies to Derek.

</p><p>He is all coiled grace and tightly controlled power, but the thing that really catches your eye when you watch him fight seriously is just how little he moves.

</p><p>Alpha Anderson swings for Derek’s face with his claws and Derek leans back. His face shows nothing but calm focus, but on Derek that makes him look almost bored. Anderson growls and tries to follow up by tackling Derek with his shoulder, but Derek sidesteps easily.

</p><p>Alpha Anderson goes sprawling on the ground, his face in the dirt. When he stands, his roar sounds more angry than pained.

</p><p>Stiles has to hold back his laughter.

</p><p>Alpha Anderson comes in with a knifehand, his claws extended, as if to stab Derek in the neck. Derek moves his head three inches to the left at the last second, the side of the Alpha’s hand barely grazing his neck, and steps into Alpha Anderson’s space.

</p><p>Stiles can’t see what he does, but a heartbeat later Derek has dodged back and there is blood all over the ground at Alpha Anderson’s feet and a deep gash in the Alpha’s stomach.

</p><p>It will heal in a matter of minutes, Stiles knows, but in the meantime it’ll hurt like hell.

</p><p>Alpha Anderson roars again and arches his back in a telltale manner that he’s going to full shift, but before his body has the chance to catch up to his desires, Derek is on him, slamming him to the ground and pinning his arms painfully behind his back.

</p><p>Derek says something to the Alpha, but Stiles can’t hear what it is, nor what Anderson says back. Derek pulls Anderson’s arm further back, twists it up and forward, and Stiles can hear a sick pop as it dislocates. Derek says something again and Anderson snarls back and all of the werewolves in Stiles’ pack bristle as one.

</p><p>Sometimes it really sucks to be human.

</p><p>Malia leans into Stiles’ side and whispers in his ear, “he called Derek a weak Alpha who doesn’t know what he has.”

</p><p>Derek’s face is creased in a way Stiles knows comes when he talks about Laura or his parents, about the old Peter, and their old pack. Malia doesn’t have to repeat what he says for Stiles to know Derek must agree with Anderson when his face looks like that.

</p><p>Derek lifts a hand to eye level, curls it into a fist, and slams it down into the back of Anderson’s head.

</p><p>The crack isn’t as loud as the sound Maria’s sternum made, but Stiles thinks that might have been amplified by its immediacy and his horror. As it stands, the sound echoes between the walls of the ravine like a chorus.

</p><p>Derek stands and stalks back to the Hale side, zeroing in on Stiles and sitting next to him. Stiles says in the lowest voice he can manage, “you need to sit with Lydia.” He’s trying to be an adult about this, even if it hurts.

</p><p>Derek doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t move, but he also doesn’t touch Stiles, not even with a knee or his shoulder. It’s like Stiles is sitting next to a statue.

</p><p>He sighs and turns to Malia. “Can you get Lydia?” Malia nods and stalks off.

</p><p>Derek turns to look at him, face creased again, eyes lidded, and he pulls in a long breath. Like it’s the last he’ll ever get.

</p><p>When Lydia gets there, Derek is still looking at Stiles, still breathing him in. When she puts a cautious hand on his shoulder, he doesn’t jump or twitch. She sits beside him and it’s like he doesn’t even know she’s there.

</p><p>“Derek,” Stiles admonishes, “pay attention to your mate.”

</p><p>“I am,” he says simply.

</p><p>It’s - the words hurt more than Stiles expects they should. Stiles knows he isn’t Derek’s mate, he knows that what they had wasn’t - you don’t treat your <em>mate</em> like that. Stiles knows enough mated werewolves by now, he’s seen the intense devotion that Boyd and Erica share for each other. He’s talked Scott through his feelings for Kira, the almost cloying way his instincts push him to touch her, to scent her, to protect her.

</p><p>You don’t - that’s not what they had. Stiles would hesitantly have classified them as something a little bit more than fuckbuddies by the end of their relationship, maybe even full on secret boyfriends, but he knows most of even that was wishful thinking.

</p><p>“I don’t want your pity,” Stiles breathes. “I know what I was to you and that wasn’t it.”

</p><p>Derek’s face is full of almost childlike anguish. There’s something so simple about how hurt he looks, like every other complex emotion in his body has drained off at once. And Stiles knows that Derek’s feelings are so layered and entwined - guilt and shame and fear twisted into something deep in Derek’s brain - that it would take years of gentle teasing at knots to unfuck him.

</p><p>“You were,” he says, insists really. “You are. You are.”

</p><p>Stiles sighs. “We have to fight next. The Andersons will want a show. Are you ready?”

</p><p>Derek raises a hand as if to touch Stiles, to clasp his shoulder or cup his face, but it hangs in the air unmoving. “I can’t hurt you,” he says, staring at the space between his hand and Stiles. “I can’t.”

</p><p>“You want to forfeit?” Stiles asks.

</p><p>Derek shrugs. “They’re your rights. You should -“ he chokes for a moment, “you should get to choose the right person for you,” he says before looking away.

</p><p>“You tell them that, then,” Stiles says. “I don’t want an angry wolf pack breathing down my neck, raring for a fight.”

</p><p>Derek looks back, glances at Stiles’ eyes for a moment, just a breath, and his face crumples all over again. It’s taking a lot to keep Stiles from reaching out, from touching, from reassuring.

</p><p>But he doesn’t even know what assurances he can give Derek. Even if Derek is right and Stiles is his mate, there’s too much there, too much bad blood lingering in their bodies, under fingernails, and in the cracks in their skin. Stiles has felt too much pain to be able to tell Derek ‘I still love you,’ without falling apart, no matter how true it may be.

</p><p>Derek uses Stiles shoulder as leverage to stand, and Stiles can feel the way his fingers linger there. Like Derek is taking his last touch solemnly.

</p><p>He can see the way the Anderson side deflates as Derek tells them that there will be no final fight of the tournament. Most of them perk back up when Derek mentions the final barbecue and party at the pack house. They all must be desperate to get more of Scott’s cooking. Stiles can’t blame them; Scott’s won every local grilling competition since he left college and got a house with a grill.

</p><p>Stiles leans back against the rock wall, allows the physical and emotional exhaustion of the day sink into his muscles, and sags. He doesn’t realize he’s the only one left until he stands up and his whole body is shaky.

</p><p>He kind of expected Derek to stay behind and try to talk to him, but he’s grateful he didn’t. Stiles doesn’t think he can handle another conversation like the ones they’ve been having without falling apart.

</p><p>He feels like a jenga tower after hours of play, where even just one more block removed will lead to his imminent collapse.

</p><p>He’s laughing at the thought and ambling out of the ravine towards the house when they grab him.

</p><p> 


</p>
<hr/><p> 

</p><p>Stiles can count on two hands the number of times he’s woken up in the trunk of a car. It’s not a good place to wake either, it’s not like he’s intentionally living a particularly trunk-friendly lifestyle.

</p><p>On the other hand, all of his trunksperience has given Stiles an almost casual ease as he shimmies his ziptied hands to his front and starts checking out what he’s working with.

</p><p>It’s not a lot, supply-wise. He doesn’t have his bag - tragically, it and the supplies in it are worth almost a month of rent - and the trunk itself was probably cleaned out in preparation of his entombment.

</p><p>The thing about kidnapping someone in the trunk of your car that you don’t realize is that there are actually a lot of ways to get out. You probably wouldn't realize this because you haven’t been bored stuck in the trunk of a car for two or more hours like Stiles has.

</p><p>The easiest and most common way is to find the little dangly pulley thing installed in most cars. The smart kidnappers have already removed that.

</p><p>Whoever has kidnapped Stiles - and he has a fairly good idea who it is - is not one of the smart kidnappers.

</p><p>He could jump out when the car pulls off the highway, which it does after a measly thirty minutes of boredom. He could call the local sheriff’s office.

</p><p>But Stiles is itching for a fight. Complicated, fucked up, and unwanted emotions have been building in his chest all day, and he kind of just wants to punch some dickhead in the face about it.

</p><p>Dr. Njenga would call it one of Stiles’ maladaptive coping mechanisms. Dr. Njenga isn’t here.

</p><p>So Stiles has the trunk popped open, taking in the cool dusk air as they drive down some residential street, and he’s out of the car before it’s fully stopped. Out of the car and on the passenger side as Pedro opens it, a look of shock on his face when he sees Stiles.

</p><p>Stiles doesn’t hesitate. He pulls Pedro’s head out of the car by his hair and slams the car door on it once.

</p><p>Crunch.

</p><p>Twice.

</p><p>Blood streaks the side of the car.

</p><p>And thrice.

</p><p>Before dropping him to the ground and turning to face Alpha Anderson himself.

</p><p>“Bloodthirsty streak in you, huh? We’ll have to train that out of you,” Anderson says, and Stiles has to remind himself that Alpha Anderson recently had his arm dislocated and his skull partially caved in, because he feels like he’s about to piss himself in fear.

</p><p>It’s something about Anderson’s voice, how hungry it is. Something about the look in his eyes when he sizes up Stiles. Mostly it’s the fact that he’s alone with an Alpha werewolf who seriously wants to turn him into some kind of weird sex slave.

</p><p>Stiles knows the probabilities here. The first thing you learn as a human running with a werewolf pack is that you don’t mess with Alphas. They’re like stronger, smarter, faster, bite-ier zombies. Who can command you after they turn you.

</p><p>But as Stiles watches Anderson transform into a full wolf, he almost feels relief. How many times has he trained with Derek in this form? How well does he remember Derek showing him every weak point in case Derek is driven feral by hunters and needs to be put down to protect the pack?

</p><p>Evolved wolves have a distinct advantage over regular werewolves, it’s true, but part of their advantage is in the surprise of accomplishing a full shift.

</p><p>There’s no surprise here.

</p><p>Anderson leaps onto Stiles, jaws open and slavering, and Stiles ducks close to the car. Anderson’s claws scrabble on the metal exterior before he slides off onto the ground, and Stiles immediately kicks him in the throat.

</p><p>The sound is soft, not the crunch of Stiles’ staff on that girl’s trachea from yesterday, but he can hear the whine coming from Anderson’s throat.

</p><p>Stiles grabs onto Anderson’s back, his knees around the wolf’s middle, his arm under the Alpha’s chin, and goes for a similar throat lock to the earlier one he used to incapacitate the wolf.

</p><p>It’s one of the evolved wolves’ biggest weaknesses: without hands, they can’t exactly remove people from their back, and with Stiles’ arm around the creature’s neck, it’s impossible to reach around and bite him.

</p><p>Anderson is a better fighter than Stiles gave him credit for, though, because he doesn’t spare any time to try to throw Stiles, just gets up and smashes his back against the car.

</p><p>The crunch of fender on spine is a feeling in Stiles’ body more than a sound in his ears. It’s going to bruise like a bitch, he knows it will, but nothing is broken and Stiles refuses to let his grip loosen even for a moment.

</p><p>Anderson falls away from the car and thrashes on the ground, trying to crush Stiles under his massive, furry weight, but Stiles knows this beating is preferable to facing the wolf’s fangs and claws.

</p><p>The Alpha’s movements slow, his rapid heartbeat in Stiles’ ear loses its rhythm, and after a few more seconds, he falls limp to the ground.

</p><p>Honestly he would have stood a better chance in his Beta shift, but Stiles isn’t going to look this gift horse in its mouth.

</p><p>He stretches his arms and looks to the house whose driveway they’re parked in. It’s the kind of low-key three story house that Stiles would expect from a pack like this. Used to hunters and the need for subtlety but large enough to want for space.

</p><p>He goes to the door and rings the bell. He’s beginning to look for windows to break into from when a timid looking little girl opens the door.

</p><p>She’s the spitting image of Elena. Stiles can’t help but smile at her.

</p><p>“Hi, my name is Stiles,” he says. “You don’t know me, but I’m a friend of your sister and mom, I think. Elena and Maria?”

</p><p>She nods before looking back into the house, a little anxious and unsure.

</p><p>“Hey, no big deal, I’m not going to ask you to come with me. Can you call your mom and let her know that Stiles is here with her Alpha?”

</p><p>Her eyes widen and flick to the form of the giant wolf still laying on the driveway. After a moment, she nods and flees back into the house.

</p><p>He held the chokehold for almost seven minutes this time, so it should last a while. He’s glad Derek let him practice chokeholds on him, because doing it to a human is just as liable to give them permanent brain damage as it is to knock them out. That or kill them.

</p><p>The girl comes back to the door while Stiles is contemplating the illegality of performing chokeholds on werewolves, phone in hand, eyes wide and face white. “Mama wants to talk to you.”

</p><p>“Thank you,” Stiles says before taking the phone gingerly from her trembling fingers. “Ma’am?”

</p><p>“Is he - what happened?” Maria asks. Stiles can hear the bustle of the party in the distant background; she must have gone outside.

</p><p>“I was knocked out after the last bout, I think by Pedro. When I woke up, I was in the trunk of a car, being driven to your territory. I took care of Pedro and your Alpha when we arrived.”

</p><p>Maria swears under her breath. “Oh fuck, Xavi… I am so sincerely sorry, Hale Second. That is unacceptable.”

</p><p>“It’s grounds for war,” Stiles corrects. “No one wants that to happen, though. Your Alpha is out of control. As representative of the Hale pack, I demand his removal.”

</p><p>Stiles knows he’s fully within his rights to do so, but it still feels <em>wrong</em> somehow. To force this woman to kill her Alpha, her family.

</p><p>But the alternative is knowing that Anderson could come after Stiles or, worse, his pack at any time, and Stiles won’t risk that.

</p><p>“I…” There’s a long pause from Maria’s end. “I understand.”

</p><p>“Are your full moon precautions strong enough to hold him?” Stiles asks. “I need to know where I can keep him until your pack decides what to do.”

</p><p>“Yes, yes, sorry, in the basement. Maribel will show you the way.”

</p><p>“Thank you. If you need to let your pack know and leave early, we will understand. If you want to let them enjoy themselves, that is also fine.” Stiles pauses, grimaces, before continuing, “I’m sorry to have to ask this of you -“

</p><p>“Don’t,” Maria says. “My brother is a foolish man and a poor Alpha. Even if you had not demanded it, our pack has rules. For him to attack a pack in good standing with us, to kidnap their Second… he chose this for himself.”

</p><p>The ruthless edge of her voice is tinged with grief, and Stiles wants to comfort her, to put a hand on her shoulder, to hug her and rock her gently, but he’s forty minutes away by car and she’s got most of her pack with her, so he simply wishes her good night and ends the call.

</p><p>“Maribel,” he says to the kid still staring at him with a combination of fear and awe. “Can you show me where you put the kids and the new Betas on the full moon?”

</p><p>She takes him to the basement through a door on the outside of the house, and it takes Stiles nearly thirty minutes to drag Anderson and Pedro down there and shackle them up.

</p><p>He takes great satisfaction in the sound their heads make as they thump down each step.

</p><p> 


</p>
<hr/><p> 

</p><p>Scott is on him as soon as Stiles opens the front door of the pack house. No one else stands in the foyer, and Stiles isn’t sure if he’s relieved or disappointed.

</p><p>Scott pulls him into a tight hug. “We had no idea where you were, man. Derek was seriously freaking out.” Scott pulls back so he can look Stiles in the face. “Did something happen? Why did…”

</p><p>“Not here,” Stiles says, knowing that any werewolf on the first floor can hear them. “Did the Anderson pack tell you what happened?”

</p><p>Scott frowns, turns back to the entrance to the living room where most of the two packs must be, and shakes his head.

</p><p>Stiles nods. “I’m safe and unhurt,” he says a little louder, so everyone can hear him. “I’m taking Scott out to talk. We’ll be back soon.”

</p><p>Scott’s face is still scrunched up in confusion when he pulls his gaze from a gathering Stiles can’t even see and turns back to Stiles. Freaking werewolves, man.

</p><p>Stiles just pulls him out of the house and drags him to the Jeep. Scott is giving him weird looks even as they pull out of the driveway and drive sedately towards town.

</p><p>“What,” Scott begins.

</p><p>He should talk about the kidnapping, about the Anderson pack, but Stiles honestly couldn’t give two shits about that right now.

</p><p>“Me and Derek have been fucking,” he interrupts. “Half a year and change.”

</p><p>Scott’s eyebrows are sky high. “How did you?”

</p><p>Stiles’ wry grin feels like a bullet wound. “He insisted. They make special soap you know, for erasing scents. Got it from an ex-hunter friend.”

</p><p>Scott looks horrified. “Why would he…?”

</p><p>“I’ve been asking myself that for a while,” Stiles says, holding back laughter like stomach acid in his throat. “He kept - he kept saying I was his mate.” They pass the edge of town and keep going.

</p><p>Scott looks deep in thought.

</p><p>“I mean, isn’t that absurd?” Stiles asks. “He’d rather pretend to be with Lydia and I’m supposed to be his mate?”

</p><p>Scott doesn’t say anything for a long moment.

</p><p>“Scott?”

</p><p>“That… makes a surprising amount of sense.”

</p><p>Stiles stares at him, dumbfounded.

</p><p>“I mean, it’s to protect you.”

</p><p>That doesn’t help.

</p><p>“What? How the hell does that protect me?”

</p><p>“An Alpha’s mate is their biggest weak point. Anyone looking to attack the pack will go after their mate, especially if the mate is human.”

</p><p>Stiles gives Scott a look. “So? Like I can’t handle that?”

</p><p>“It’s not about what you can handle, dude. It’s like… letting your mate be in danger is like putting your hand on a hot stove. Him protecting you, it’s a reflex.”

</p><p>Stiles shakes his head. “But not marking me? Hiding our relationship?”

</p><p>“Marking and stuff… that’s all about protection. It’s not like I think Kira is going to cheat on me or something, it’s about showing other werewolves that they’ll have to deal with me if they give her a hard time.”

</p><p>Stiles purses his lips and keeps his eyes on the road. They’re driving through his old neighborhood and he can recognize houses from his childhood as they pass. 

</p><p>“Did he sleep with you?” At Stiles’ raised eyebrow Scott rolls his eyes. “In a bed, you know what I mean.”

</p><p>“Yeah,” Stiles admits.

</p><p>“At your place or his?”

</p><p>“Mine.”

</p><p>Scott lets out a long breath. “Wow. That’s pretty serious.”

</p><p>Stiles waits for Scott to explain, because he’s a good friend who doesn’t punch people just for being infuriatingly vague.

</p><p>“It’s just… sleeping in someone else’ presence is a big deal for Alphas. Especially outside of their own space.”

</p><p>“He slept in my bed and somehow that means he’s in love with me? Really?”

</p><p>“I mean, kinda, yeah. Again, it’s like a reflex. Alphas have to be constantly vigilant; they physically wouldn’t be able to fall asleep next to someone they didn’t deeply trust, not even pack. It’s kind of why Alpha mates are such a big deal.”

</p><p>“How come I don’t know this and you do?” Stiles asks as he turns off the road into the parking lot to his apartment building. “I mean, you were bitten, right?”

</p><p>Scott smiles. “I was an Alpha for a while, remember? I had to go through this too.”

</p><p>Stiles shrugs. “I just… say he was acting on instinct. It still made me feel like shit.”

</p><p>Scott shifts so his back is to the Jeep door and he can look Stiles in the face. Stiles sits, hands still on the steering wheel even though they’re parked, and tries to keep himself together.

</p><p>“I thought I’d come back from college and the internship, get over Lydia, and find someone to date seriously and everything would just… work out somehow.”

</p><p>Scott watches without interrupting.

</p><p>“And when I made a move on Derek, I never thought it would actually go anywhere, you know? I’ve liked him for so long, it never crossed my mind that he might… might feel something for me too.

</p><p>“But then… it did. We started hanging out, and it was really good. Really, really good. But the more time we spent together, the more I noticed him avoiding me around the rest of the pack. It felt like… like maybe he was just using me for sex.”

</p><p>Scott is as still as silence. Stiles kind of wishes he would move, or speak, or just react <em>somehow</em>.

</p><p>“And I tried, I did, to do stuff together. Go out on dates. And he just… wouldn’t.” Stiles wipes his hands over his face. “I should have known, you know? A guy with that much baggage, no way he can say what he needs or wants. I just… he seemed so put together when I got back, I thought I didn’t have anything to worry about.”

</p><p>“He is better,” Scott says. Stiles almost jumps at the sudden sound. “He worked hard. When he got the Alpha spark from me, he promised me he wouldn’t let me down. I’ve never seen him so serious before.”

</p><p>Stiles laughs weakly. “But somehow he still couldn’t keep from fucking me up.”

</p><p>Neither of them move for a long time.

</p><p>Stiles feels vaguely sick. He should have known that Derek’s traumas would mix with and intensify his born wolf instincts. Why hadn’t he talked with Derek about this? Why had he let these feelings fester.

</p><p>The answer, he thinks, is twofold: firstly, Stiles was afraid that if he said anything about his feelings, that he would lose what little he had.

</p><p>And, perhaps more so, Stiles was convinced, somewhere in his shitty little head, that he didn’t deserve any better.

</p><p>Stiles is someone you put up with when he’s useful. Stiles isn’t the kind of person that people want to be around the rest of the time. He’s annoyingly loud and frustratingly hard-headed.

</p><p>He’s not the kind of person that people want to spend forever with.

</p><p>Stiles leans forward against the steering wheel, hunched his shoulders in, and breathes in the smallest movements he can.

</p><p>Sometimes he wishes he could shrink and shrink and shrink until there’s nothing left of him to fuck up his life.

</p><p>Scott’s hand falling on Stiles’ shoulder almost sends him into a panic attack.

</p><p>His words are even worse: “you didn’t deserve to be treated like that. You do know that, right?”

</p><p>Stiles doesn’t look up. Doesn’t respond at all. No matter what he says, Scott will know the truth with his stupid werewolf hearing.

</p><p>“Even if Derek had the best reasons in the world to hide your relationship, it hurt you, and there is no excuse for that.”

</p><p>Stiles wants to shrug, but he can’t move for fear of his tightly controlled demeanor cracking. He’s not afraid of crying in front of Scott, but it’s the principle of the thing.

</p><p>“You should have talked to him about it, sure, but he should have talked to you about it too. Just because he’s got instincts doesn’t mean he gets to make you feel worthless.”

</p><p>All of Stiles’ resolve not to cry goes out the window as his tears splash against the central column of the steering wheel.

</p><p>“You deserve someone who will make you feel loved,” Scott says simply, as if the words are little things that don’t break Stiles in half when he hears them.

</p><p><em>You deserve someone who will make you feel loved</em>, huh? Stiles doesn’t think he’s ever considered whether or not he feels loved in a relationship. Did Derek make him feel loved? When they were alone, sure. When Derek held him tight and told him things he’d never told anyone else, about himself, his family, and his feelings.

</p><p>When Derek would cook for him and complain about Stiles’ eating habits as if he cared about Stiles’ health.

</p><p>When Derek would complain about him getting up in the morning and refuse to let go of him.

</p><p>When Derek would appear at Stiles’ door giddily, as if seeing Stiles was the best part of his day.

</p><p>But how many times did Derek make him feel like he didn’t deserve to be loved?

</p><p>Every time he tried to touch Derek in public just to be ignored or brushed off.

</p><p>Every time he asked Derek to go out together and got shitty excuses or simple refusal.

</p><p>Every time Derek denied being in a relationship.

</p><p>Every time Derek looked embarrassed to be around him.

</p><p>It’s not like these things simply canceled each other out. It’s not a simple calculus of ‘but did he make me feel more loved or more unlovable’, because somehow Stiles felt both at once when he was with Derek.

</p><p>Both like he didn’t want to be apart from Derek and also like there was something wrong with him. Both soft smiles and tears. A joy that felt towering, and a despair that felt unendurable.

</p><p>Scott doesn’t say anything.

</p><p>Stiles’ grip on the steering wheel tightens. 

</p><p>“Is it fucked up that I want to go back to him?” Stiles asks, voice reedy. He can’t bring himself to look at Scott’s face.

</p><p>Scott just squeezes his shoulder reassuringly.

</p><p>“I thought… even in the worst of it, I wanted… I was going to ask him how he felt about kids. Marriage, or something like it. Being public with our relationship. I was working up the nerve when the Andersons arrived.” Stiles sucks in a deep breath. “It was stupid, I guess. He wouldn’t have said yes.”

</p><p>The ‘not with me’ echoes unspoken in the car.

</p><p>“He’s been acting weird, since it was decided that he’d pretend to be with Lydia. What happened?” Scott asks.

</p><p>“It was the last straw, I guess. I figured, it wasn’t worth it to keep being hurt like this, to build my hopes up over nothing, so I cut off contact.”

</p><p>Scott lets out a harsh breath. “Oh.”

</p><p>“He kept trying to talk to me about it,” Stiles admits. “I brushed him off. I just didn’t… I knew it would hurt more. He’d try to explain and I’d hear everything he wasn’t saying…”

</p><p>“That explains… a fair bit.”

</p><p>“He… he actually acted like it, a little bit. Today. After his fight.” Stiles inhales. “Like I meant something to him.”

</p><p>Stiles looks up, wipes his eyes and glances at Scott.

</p><p>“Is it… is it a bad thing that I kind of want him back? Even with everything he did, and the way he made me feel?”

</p><p>Scott’s smile is pained. “It’s not bad that you still love him. It’s not great that you’d go back to something that made you feel like shit, but you’re not broken.”

</p><p>Scott knows precisely the right words to crack Stiles open.

</p><p>He reaches across the stick, wraps his hands around Scott’s shoulders, and pulls him into a hug. If there are tear stains on Scott’s shirt when they pull away, at least Scott doesn’t comment.

</p><p> 


</p>
<hr/><p> 

</p><p>When Stiles gets back to the pack house after dropping Scott off, Lydia is on the front step waiting for him. Her makeup is the kind of streaky that Stiles knows simple tears cannot accomplish.

</p><p>“I didn’t know,” she says when he approaches. “I promise, I didn’t know.”

</p><p>“It’s okay,” Stiles says. “I know you didn’t.”

</p><p>She shakes her head. “It’s <em>not</em> okay, what the hell. We - I made you watch me and Derek…”

</p><p>Stiles raises a hand to quiet her. “You didn’t know. I don’t blame you.”

</p><p>“He told us,” Lydia blurts out. “When you were with Scott. All of our pack and some of the Andersons know.”

</p><p>“That he led me on for all this time? Great,” Stiles says sarcastically.

</p><p>Lydia gives him a reproachful look. “No, that you’re - that you’re his mate.”

</p><p>“Was that what he decided to go with?”

</p><p>Stiles should be mad. He should be upset. But the more he thinks about it the more relieved he is that Derek didn’t explain all of the shitty things he’d done. The pack can probably interpolate just fine on their own, but something about having their business out for everyone to see doesn’t sit right with him.

</p><p>“Anyway, he’s the one who decided to keep everything under wraps. You don’t need to apologize for the fact that you were deceived; if anyone should be apologizing for what happened, it’s him.”

</p><p>Lydia looks down at her hands. “He knows,” she says, quieter than Lydia Martin should ever be. “He knows he fucked up.”

</p><p>Stiles puts a hand on her shoulder in an attempt at reassurance. He knows she doesn’t need it, not really, but it’s as much for his sake as it is for hers.

</p><p>He doesn’t linger long. As soon as Lydia has composed herself and begun fixing her makeup, he goes inside the house.

</p><p>Elena is standing in the foyer, bag on her shoulder and keys in her hand, apparently waiting for him.

</p><p>Stiles wonders if he’s ever going to get to actually talk to Derek at this rate.

</p><p>Elena does a little wave, though, and Stiles can’t refuse her. When he gets close, she pulls him into a hug. “I know it doesn’t mean much, but I’m so sorry for my Alpha’s - former Alpha’s,” she corrects herself, “behavior. Mom got a ride back and put him down herself. The rest of the pack will understand in time.”

</p><p>Stiles doesn’t envy Maria the task of reshaping the Anderson pack. “Thanks, Elena. You’re a good kid.”

</p><p>Elena rolls her eyes in such a particular kind of snotty teenage fashion that Stiles is reminded of himself. He should buy his dad a present to make up for the hell he put him through.

</p><p>“Stay safe on the road,” Stiles says as she walks backwards out the door, grin on her face. “Call me if you need anything - anything at all.”

</p><p>“I will,” she says, waving one last time.

</p><p>When she’s gone, Stiles puts on his determined face and decides that he’s going to find Derek and have this conversation even if it kills it.

</p><p>Malia and Cora both look like they want to come over and say something, but the face must be working because they stay where they are, nursing their drinks.

</p><p>When Stiles finds Derek lying on the roof, looking up at the moon (new, just a blank spot, but Derek must still know precisely where it is), it’s only because he’s searched every other place in the house. Twice.

</p><p>He grunts as he sits down next to Derek.

</p><p>“You heard, huh?” he asks, gesturing down to the front steps where he and Lydia had been speaking.

</p><p>Derek doesn’t say anything. When Stiles looks over at him, he’s staring at Stiles with an intensity that Stiles has never seen before.

</p><p>When Derek does speak, his voice is small. It’s nothing like the commanding tone Stiles is used to hearing in front of the pack, nor the warm voice he remembers from his apartment. “I’m sorry.”

</p><p>Stiles watches him in silence.

</p><p>“I never thought I deserved someone as wonderful as you,” Derek confesses quietly.

</p><p>Stiles feels the pressure in his throat and behind his eyes that signals he’s about to cry, but he’s so empty and wrung out that no tears fall.

</p><p>“I’m sorry that I made you feel unwanted,” Derek says. “I’m sorry that I didn’t - I’m sorry that I -“ He pauses for a long moment. “I really fucked it all up, huh.”

</p><p>Stiles doesn’t speak.

</p><p>“I have these instincts,” Derek begins.

</p><p>“I know,” Stiles says. “Scott explained.”

</p><p>But Derek keeps going. “You were the best thing that ever happened to me, and I kept fucking it up. It was like I was watching someone else in my body.”

</p><p>Stiles sucks in a breath. He knows Derek didn’t mean to reference the nogitsune, he knows how hard that is for Derek to talk about in the first place, but all Stiles can do is fall back into those memories.

</p><p>Until Derek puts a hand on Stiles’ forearm. “It was different,” he says. “I was in control, I could have said something or asked for help. I just didn’t want to burden you.”

</p><p>Stiles feels his heartbeat recede from the precipice, feels the warmth of Derek’s fingers on his skin, and allows himself to lay down next to Derek.

</p><p>“It’s a shit excuse,” Derek says. “Hurting someone I love because of my instincts? What kind of Alpha allows that to happen?”

</p><p>Stiles doesn’t speak.

</p><p>“I spent every day half afraid you would dump me and find someone better,” Derek admits.

</p><p>Stiles can’t hold back his laugh. He quickly follows it up with, “we’re just a pile of self-esteem issues, huh?”

</p><p>Derek makes a small noise somewhere between a laugh and a sigh, but he doesn’t let go of Stiles’ forearm.

</p><p>“I still love you, you know?” Stiles says to the stars. “Even despite everything. Honestly I’m not sure what that says about my self-preservation instincts.”

</p><p>He can feel Derek’s grip on his arm tighten at the words. “They never were much good,” the werewolf says weakly.

</p><p>“It might not be enough, though,” Stiles continues. He can feel Derek’s fingers let go of his arm, but he keeps talking anyway. “Or, if we go back to what we had, I’m not sure I’ll be safe. You really hurt me.”

</p><p>He doesn’t have to look at Derek to know what the man is feeling.

</p><p>“But… maybe we can start again. From the beginning. Actually talk to each other this time. Not make anyone feel like they don’t deserve this.”

</p><p>Derek is sitting up now, his face full of wonder. “Really?” he asks, looking as if he half expects this to be a joke.

</p><p>“Also, you need to get a therapist, dude. It’s incredible that you are as functional as you are without one, but holy shit.”

</p><p>Derek’s face breaks out into a tiny smile. “Anything,” he whispers. “You name it. Anything.”

</p><p>Stiles holds out his hand. “Hi. My name is Stiles, my friend is looking for his inhaler?”

</p><p>Derek’s smile breaks like dawn across his face and it’s the most beautiful thing Stiles has ever seen in his life. “This is private property,” he says like a greeting, like a welcome home.

</p><p>Stiles fits easily into the space between his arms.

</p><p> 


</p>
<hr/><p> 

<strong>5 Years Later</strong>

</p><p>Stiles wipes the sweat from his brow as Derek circles around him, movement lithe and predatory. Even his smile is sharp.

</p><p>He’s at the disadvantage. No weapons, no protection, and Derek knows his strengths and weaknesses intimately.

</p><p>Frankly, Stiles isn’t sure how he’s going to win this.

</p><p>The soft grass under their feet make Derek’s steps silent, though Stiles is sure his own must be thundering to the werewolf.

</p><p>Derek moves forward slowly, inch by inch, and Stiles moves back to keep the distance. If Derek gets too close, he’s done for.

</p><p>They’ve been going at this for a few minutes already and Stiles can feel the bruises on his knuckles and back. He knows if Derek didn’t have healing, his bruising would be far worse.

</p><p>It only takes a moment of his attention lapsing, just a glance flicking away to check his surroundings, before Derek is on him, grabbing him around the waist and throwing Stiles to the ground like a veritable sack of potatoes.

</p><p>Stiles knows better than to quit fighting now. His ground game is far better than Derek’s.

</p><p>Before Derek has the chance to pin Stiles, he’s grabbing Derek’s leg under the thigh and surging up, throwing off Derek’s balance and knocking him on his back. He smoothly turns it into a lock without letting go of the leg, holding it in his arms while he pins Derek motionless on the ground with his legs.

</p><p>Werewolves are incredible grapplers, let it be known, but many of Stiles’ ground techniques are designed specifically to counter strong opponents. No matter how much super strength you have, if you don’t have any leverage, you still won’t be able to break out.

</p><p>Of course, strength isn’t the only reason werewolves are good at wrestling. The more important factor is their healing.

</p><p>Stiles knows Derek can dislocate his hip to get out of this pin, has even seen him do something like it on the field, but at least it will slow him down. Perhaps long enough for Stiles to get the upper hand -

</p><p>“Daddy! No!” a tiny voice yells from the pack house.

</p><p>“Shit,” Stiles swears under his breath.

</p><p>Little hands are on him in an instant, pulling him off of Derek. “Get off Alpha, daddy! No fighting.”

</p><p>When Stiles gets his legs off of Derek’s chest, the werewolf is on Nate in a flash. “Hey, hey, hey, we’re fine, okay buddy?” he says, smoothing down Nate’s impossible to tame black hair with one hand while he wipes away tears with the other. “We were just playing.”

</p><p>“Daddy was hurting you,” Nate says, voice wobbly. Stiles knows better than to interrupt right now and throw off the delicate process of calming down a werewolf toddler.

</p><p>“He was, but I was okay with it. We were practicing, just practicing. Daddy doesn’t hurt me when we aren’t practicing, does he?”

</p><p>Nate shakes his head, anger diffusing into confusion. “Sorry for getting scared,” he says, sitting down on the grass.

</p><p>“Hey, it’s okay,” Derek says, voice achingly gentle. “We all get scared sometimes. Are you feeling better now?”

</p><p>Nate nods, over exaggerated by his distress. Stiles looks at Derek over the kid’s head, eyebrow raised, and Derek nods minutely.

</p><p>“I think you scared daddy, bud.”

</p><p>Nate turns around to look at Stiles with astonished eyes. “Oh no,” he says, as if this heralds the end of the world.

</p><p>Stiles nods sagely. “I was scared,” he admits. “I didn’t know who the powerful wolf was that interrupted our practice. I was worried that he would defeat me and Alpha and take over the pack.

</p><p>“Noooo,” Nate draws out, running over to Stiles to hug him as tight as his little arms will go. “I wouldn’t, I promise.”

</p><p>Stiles pulls him down onto the grass with him until his head is tucked under Stiles’ chin and Stiles can look up to see the sky. “Don’t worry, wolf boy,” Stiles says softly. “We’ll always be here to protect you.”

</p><p>“Promise?” the little voice under his chin asks.

</p><p>“Promise.”

</p><p>Derek collapses on top of them with a huff and Nate is giggling and pushing his Alpha off, Stiles is laughing and ticking Derek mercilessly, and Derek is surrendering obediently with Nate holding his hands behind his back.

</p><p>Stiles lets himself look at the two of them, watch them play together, and wonders at his luck.

</p><p>He never thought he’d deserve something as wonderful as this.

</p><p>He’s glad he got it anyway.</p>
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